Leigh    Hunt's    Writings. 


THE  BOOK  OF  THE  SONNET.  Compris- 
ing an  Essayon  the  Cultivation,  History,  and  Varieties 
of  the  species  of  poem  called  the  Sonnet,  with  a  Selec- 
tion of  English  Sonnets,  now  first  published  from  the 
original  MSS.  of  Leigh  Hunt.  An  Essay  on  American 
Sonnets  and  Sonneteers,  with  a  Selection  of  Sonnets, 
by  S.  Adams  Lee.  In  two  volumes.  i6mo.  Cloth, 
gilt  top.     Price,  $3.00. 

"The  genuine  aroma  of  literature  abounds  in  every  page  of  Leigh  Hunt's 
delicious  Essay  on  the  Sonnet.  His  mind  shows  itself  imbued  with  a  rich 
knowledge  of  his  subject,  and  this,  illumined  by  the  evidence  of  a  thorough  and 
unaffected  liking  for  it,  makes  him  irresistible." — London  Saturday  Review. 

"  As  a  collection  of  Sonnets,  it  is  not  only  the  fullest  ever  made,  but  by  far 
the  best,  even  excelling  the  dainty  little  collection  by  Dyce,  .  .  .  and  Hunt's 
exhaustive  and  every  way  admirable  introductory  essay  is,  after  all,  much  the 
best  part  of  the  work.  Its  pages  are  steeped  in  thoughtful  scholarship  on  this 
special  theme,  and  sparkle  with  genial  and  veracious  criticism."  —  R.  H.  Stod- 
dard. 

"A  greater  verbal  epicurean  than  Leigh  Hunt  never  lived.  He  luxuriated 
over  niceties  of  expression  and  revelled  in  a  delicious  image  or  apt  phrases  ;  he 
was  always  seeking  the  beautiful  in  neglected  fields  of  literature  ;  and  to  renew 
his  acquaintance  with  the  memorable  sonnets  of  Italian  and  English  poets  was 
simply  a  labor  of  love.  He  therefore  wrote  an  essay  giving  the  history  of  the 
sonnet,  and  denning  its  conditions  and  possibilities,  expatiated  on  the  special 
merits  of  each  renowned  writer  in  this  sphere,  and  indicated  the  most  striking 
examples  of  success  in  artistic  and  effective  construction  or  eloquent  feeling  as 
thus  embodied  and  expressed."  —  H.  T.  Tuckerman. 

"  Whether  Leigh  Hunt  was  a  man  of  genius,  or  only  of  surpassing  talent, 
is  a  question  which  we  willingly  leave  to  the  critics  who  find  tweedledee  differ- 
ent from  tweedledum  in  kind  as  well  as  degree.  We  are  content  with  the  fact 
that  he  has  some  virtue  which  makes  us  read  every  book  of  his  we  open,  and 
which  leaves  us  more  his  friend  at  the  end  than  we  were  before.  Indeed,  it 
would  be  hard  not  to  love  so  cheerful  and  kindly  a  soul,  even  if  his  art  were 
ever  less  than  charming.  But  literature  seems  to  have  always  been  a  gay  sci- 
ence with  him.  We  never  see  his  Muse  as  the  harsh  step-mother  she  really 
was  :  we  are  made  to  think  her  a  gentle  liege-lady,  served  in  the  airiest  spirit  of 
chivalric  devotion  ;  and  in  the  Essay  in  this  '  Book  of  the  Sonnet '  her  aspect 
is  as  sunny  as  any  the  poet  has  ever  shown  us. 

"  The  Essay  is  printed  for  the  first  time,  and  it  was  written  in  Hunt's  old 
age ;  but  it  is  full  of  light-heartedness,  and  belongs  in  feeling  to  a  period  at 
least  as  early  as  that  which  produced  the  '  Stories  from  the  Italian  Poets.'  It 
is  one  of  those  studies  in  which  he  was  always  happy,  for  it  keeps  him  chiefly 
in  Italy ;  and  when  it  takes  him  from  Italy,  it  only  brings  him  into  the  Italian 
air  of  English  sonnetry,  —  a  sort  of  soft  Devonshire  coast,  bordering  the  rug- 
geder  native  poetry  on  the  south." —  W.  D.  Howells,  in  Atlantic  Monthly. 


Sold  everywhere.     Mailed,  postpaid,  by  the  Publishers. 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS, 

Boston. 


V 


DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/daybyfireOOhuntiala 


/2-?36 


DAY    BY    THE    FIRE; 

&nti  ©tjjer  Papers, 

HITHERTO     UNCOLLECTED. 


LEIGH  HUNT. 


"Matchless  as  a  fireside  companion."  — Elia. 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1870. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  by 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,   for  the 
District  of  Massachusetts. 


Cambridge: 
press  of  john  wilson  and  son. 


PREFATORY    NOTE. 


|HE  papers  here  first  collected  were  originally 
published  in  "The  Reflector,"  "The  Ex- 
aminer," "The  Indicator,"*  "The  London 
Journal,"  "  The  Monthly  Chronicle,"  and 
"  The  New  Monthly  Magazine ; "  and  were  written  at 
widely  different  periods  of  the  author's  life  —  in  his  early 
manhood,  middle  life,  and  old  age. 

If  there  is  any  intelligent  person  who  professes  not  to 
like  Leigh  Hunt,  it  is  probably  for  precisely  the  same  rea- 
son that  Charles  Lamb  professed  not  to  like  the  W s, 

—  because  he  did  not  know  them.  For  Leigh  Hunt  is  one 
of  the  most  delightful  of  authors,  and  all  who  read  him 
admire  him  for  his  scholarly  tastes  and  literary  amenities, 
his  nimble  wit,  bright  fancy,  and  subtle  perception  of 
beauty  ;  and  love  him  for  his  glad  heart  and  sunny  dis- 
position, his  large  and  generous  sympathies,  and  noble, 
Christian  faith  in  the  innate  goodness  of  man. 

This  volume  of  essays  and  sketches,  —  written  in  the 
author's  pleasant,  characteristic  manner,  and  full  of  what 
Hawthorne  happily  calls  "his  unmeasured  poetry,"  —  will, 
I  hope,  be  acceptable  to  the  old  admirers  of  Leigh  Hunt, 
and  introduce  him  to  many  new  and  appreciative  readers. 

J.  E.  B. 

Chelsea,  November  18,  1869. 


*  The  little  weekly  periodical,  from  which  the  well-known  delightful  work 
uf  the  same  name  is  a  selection. 


Something  not  to  be  replaced  would  be  struck  out  of  the  gentler  literature 
of  our  century,  could  the  mind  of  Leigh  Hunt  cease  to  speak  to  us  in  a  book. 
Edward  Bulwer,  Lord  Lytton. 

Into  whatever  he  has  written  he  has  put  a  living  soul ;  and  much  of  what 
he  has  produced  is  brilliant  either  with  wit  and  humor,  or  with  tenderness  and 
beauty.  George  L.  Craik. 

Leigh  Hunt  seems  the  very  opposite  of  Hazlitt  He  loves  everything,  he 
catches  the  sunny  side  of  everything,  and,  excepting  that  he  has  a  few  polemical 
antipathies,  finds  everything  beautiful. 

Henry  Crabb  Robinson. 

He  is,  in  truth,  one  of  the  pleasantest  writers  of  his  time,  — easy,  colloquial, 
genial,  human,  full  of  fine  fancies  and  verbal  niceties,  possessing  a  loving  if  not 
a  "  learned  spirit,"  with  Hardly  a  spice  of  bitterness  in  his  composition. 

E.  P.  Whipple. 

I  have  been  reading  some  of  Leigh  Hunt's  works  lately,  and  am  surprised 
at  the  freshness,  and  sweetness,  and  Christian,  not  lax,  spirit  of  human  benev- 
olence and  toleration  which  existed  in  the  heart  of  one  who  was  the  contempo- 
rary, and  even  colleague,  of  Byron. 

Frederick  W.  Robertson. 


CONTENTS. 


Pretatory  Note 3 

A  Day  by  the  Fire 13 

On  Commonplace  People 42 

A  Popular  View  of  the  Heathen  Mythology      ...  47 
On  the  Genii  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  and  the 

Spirit  that  was  said  to  have  waited  on  Socrates  .  59 

On  the  Genii  of  Antiquity  and  the  Poets 70 

Fairies 81 

Genii  and  Fairies  of  the  East,  the  Arabian  Nights,  &c.  124 

The  Satyr  of  Mythology  and  the  Poets 155 

The  Nymphs  of  Antiquity  and  of  the  Poets  ....  170 

The  Sirens  and  Mermaids  of  the  Poets 188 

Tritons  and  Men  of  the  Sea 206 

On  Giants,  Ogres,  and  Cyclops 231 

Gog  and  Magog,  and  the  Wall  of  Dhoulkarnein    .     .  252 

Aeronautics,  Real  and  Fabulous 260 

On  the  Talking  of  Nonsense 284 

A  Rainy  Day 292 

The  True  Enjoyment  of  Splendor 299 


12  CONTENTS. 

Retrospective  Review — Men  Wedded  to  Books  —  The 

Contest  between  the  Nightingale  and  Musician    .  302 

The  Murdered  Pump 315 

Christmas  Eve  and  Christmas  Day 319 

New  Year's  Gifts '.....  326 

Sale  of  the  late  Mr.  West's  Pictures 331 

Translation  from  Milton  into  Welsh 334 

The  Bull-Fight;  or,  The  Story  of  Don  Alphonso  de 

Melos  and  the  Jeweller's  Daughter 343 

Love  and  Will 353 


A   DAY  BY  THE  FIRE. 


AM  one  of  those  that  delight  in  a  fireside,  and 
can  enjoy  it  without  even  the  help  of  a  cat  or 
a  tea-kettle.  To  cats,  indeed,  I  have  an  aver- 
sion, as  animals  that  only  affect  a  sociality, 
without  caring  a  jot  for  any  thing  but  their 
own  luxury ;  *  and  my  tea-kettle,  I  frankly  confess,  has 
long  been  displaced,  or  rather  dismissed,  by  a  bronze-col- 
ored and  graceful  urn ;  though,  between  ourselves,  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  have  gained  any  thing  by  the  exchange. 
Cowper,  it  is  true,  talks  of  the  "  bubbling  and  loud-hissing 
urn,"  which  — 

"  Throws  up  a  steamy  column  ; " 

but  there  was  something  so  primitive  and  unaffected,  so 
warm-hearted  and  unpresuming,  in  the  tea-kettle,  —  its 
song  was  so  much  more  cheerful  and  continued,  and  it 
kept  the  water  so  hot  and  comfortable  as  long  as  you 
wanted  it, — that  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  I  had  sent  off  a 
good,  plain,  faithful  old  friend,  who  had  but  one  wish  to 
serve  me,  for  a  superficial,  smooth-faced  upstart  of  a  fel- 
low, who,  after  a  little  promising  and  vaporing,  grows  cold 


*  This  was  written  in  the  early  days  of  Leigh  Hunt's  literary  career;  but 
years  after,  when  he  was  older  and  wiser,  he  did  full  and  complete  justice  to  the 
familiar  household  cat,  in  an  admirable  paper,  entitled,  "The  Cat  by  the 
Fire,"  published  in  "The  Seer."  —  Ed. 


14  A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 

and  contemptuous,  and  thinks  himself  bound  to  do  noth- 
ing but  stand  on  a  rug  and  have  his  person  admired  by  the 
circle.  To  this  admiration,  in  fact,  I  have  been  obliged  to 
resort,  in  order  to  make  myself  think  well  of  my  bargain, 
if  possible  ;  and,  accordingly,  I  say  to  myself  every  now 
and  then  during  the  tea,  "  A  pretty  look  with  it,  —  that 
urn  ;  "  or,  u  It's  wonderful  what  a  taste  the  Greeks  had  ;  " 
or,  "  The  eye  might  have  a  great  many  enjoyments,  if  peo- 
ple would  but  look  after  forms  and  shapes."  In  the  mean 
while,  the  urn  leaves  off  its  "  bubbling  and  hissing,"  —  but 
then  there  is  such  an  air  with  it !  My  tea  is  made  of  cold 
water,  —  but  then,  the  Greeks  were  such  a  nation  ! 

If  there  is  any  one  thing  that  can  reconcile  me  to  the 
loss  of  my  kettle,  more  than  another,  it  is  that  my  fire  has 
been  left  to  itself:  it  has  full  room  to  breathe  and  to  blaze, 
and  I  can  poke  it  as  I  please.  What  recollections  does 
that  idea  excite  ?  —  Poke  it  as  I  please  !  Think,  benevo- 
lent reader,  —  think  of  the  pride  and  pleasure  of  having 
in  your  hand  that  awful,  but  at  the  same  time  artless, 
weapon,  a  poker,  —  of  putting  it  into  the  proper  bar,  gently 
levering  up  the  coals,  and  seeing  the  instant  and  bustling 
flame  above  !  *  To  what  can  I  compare  that  moment  ? 
that  sudden,  empyreal  enthusiasm  ?  that  fiery  expression 
of  vivification  ?  that  ardent  acknowledgment,  as  it  were, 
of  the  care  and  kindliness  of  the  operator  ?  Let  me  con- 
sider a  moment :  it  is  very  odd  ;  I  was  always  reckoned  a 
lively  hand  at  a  simile  ;  but  language  and  combination 
absolutely  fail  me  here.  If  it  is  like  any  tiling,  it  must  be 
something  beyond  every  thing  in  beauty  and  life.  Oh,  I 
have  it  now :  think,  reader,  if  you  are  one  of  those  who 


*  Charles  Lamb's  friend  and  school-mate,  Le  Grice,  wrote  a  book  on  the 
"Art  of  Poking  the  Fire."—  Ed. 


A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE.  15 

can  muster  up  sufficient  sprightliness  to  engage  in  a  game 
of  forfeits,  —  on  Twelfth  night,  for  instance,  —  think  of  a 
blooming  girl  who  is  condemned  to  "open  her  mouth  and 
shut  her  eyes,  and  see  what  heaven,"  in  the  shape  of  a 
mischievous  young  fellow,  "  will  send  her."  Her  mouth 
is  opened  accordingly,  the  fire  of  her  eyes  is  dead,  her 
face  assumes  a  doleful  air ;  up  walks  the  aforesaid  heaven 
or  mischievous  young  fellow  (young  Ouranos,  Hesiod 
would  have  called  him),  and,  instead  of  a  piece  of  paper,  a 
thimble,  or  a  cinder,  claps  into  her  mouth  a  peg  of  orange 
or  a  long  slice  of  citron ;  then  her  eyes  above  instantly 
light  up  again,  the  smiles  wreath  about,  the  sparklings 
burst  forth,  and  all  is  warmth,  brilliancy,  and  delight.  I 
am  aware  that  this  simile  is  not  perfect ;  but  if  it  would 
do  for  an  epic  poem,  as  I  think  it  might,  after  Virgil's 
whipping-tops  and  Homer's  jackasses  and  black-pud- 
dings, the  reader,  perhaps,  will  not  quarrel  with  it. 

But  to  describe  my  feelings  in  an  orderly  manner,  I 
must  request  the  reader  to  go  with  me  through  a  day's 
enjoyments  by  the  fireside.  It  is  part  of  my  business  to 
look  about  for  helps  to  reflection  ;  and,  for  this  reason, 
among  many  others,  I  indulge  myself  in  keeping  a  good 
fire  from  morning  till  night.  I  have  also  a  reflective  turn 
for  an  easy  chair,  and  a  very  thinking  attachment  to  com- 
fort in  general.  But  of  this  as  I  proceed.  Imprimis, 
then  :  the  morning  is  clear  and  cold  ;  time,  half-past  sev- 
en ;  scene,  a  breakfast-room.  Some  persons,  by  the  by> 
prefer  a  thick  and  rainy  morning,  with  a  sobbing  wind, 
and  the  clatter  of  pattens  along  the  streets ;  but  I  confess, 
for  my  own  part,  that  being  a  sedentary  person,  and  too 
apt  to  sin  against  the  duties  of  exercise,  I  have  somewhat 
too  sensitive  a  consciousness  of  bad  weather,  and  feel  a 
heavy  sky  go  over  me  like  a  feather-bed,  or  rather  like  a 


1 6  A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 

huge  brush  which  rubs  all  my  nap  the  wrong  way.  I  am 
growing  better  in  this  respect,  and,  by  the  help  of  a  stout 
walk  at  noon,  and  getting,  as  it  were,  fairly  into  a  favorite 
poet  and  a  warm  fire  of  an  evening,  begin  to  manage  a 
cloud  or  an  east  wind  tolerably  well ;  but  still,  for  perfec- 
tion's sake  on  the  present  occasion,  I  must  insist  upon  my 
clear  morning,  and  will  add  to  it,  if  the  reader  pleases,  a 
little  hoar-frost  upon  the  windows,  a  bird  or  two  coming 
after  the  crumbs,  and  the  light  smoke  from  the  neighboring 
chimneys  brightening  up  into  the  early  sunshine.  Even 
the  dustman's  bell  is  not  unpleasant  from  its  association  ; 
and  there  is  something  absolutely  musical  in  the  clash  of 
the  milk-pails  suddenly  unyoked,  and  the  ineffable,  ad  libi- 
tum note  that  follows. 

The  waking  epicure  rises  with  an  elastic  anticipation  ; 
enjoys  the  freshening  cold  water  which  endears  what  is  to 
come  ;  and  even  goes  placidly  through  the  villanous  scrap- 
ing process  which  we  soften  down  into  the  level  and  lawny 
appellation  of  shaving.  He  then  hurries  down  stairs, 
rubbing  his  hands,  and  sawing  the  sharp  air  through  his 
teeth ;  and,  as  he  enters  the  breakfast-room,  sees  his  old 
companion  glowing  through  the  bars,  the  life  of  the  apart- 
ment, and  wanting  only  his  friendly  hand  to  be  lightened 
a  little,  and  enabled  to  shoot  up  into  dancing  brilliancy. 
(I  find  I  am  getting  into  a  quantity  of  epithets  here,  and 
must  rein  in  my  enthusiasm.)  What  need  I  say?  The 
poker  is  applied,  and  would  be  so  whether  required  or 
not,  for  it  is  impossible  to  resist  the  sudden  ardor  inspired 
by  that  sight?  The  use  of  the  poker,  on  first  seeing  one's 
fire,  is  as  natural  as  shaking  hands  with  a  friend.  At  that 
movement  a  hundred  little  sparkles  fly  up  from  the  coal- 
dust  that  falls  within,  while  from  the  masses  themselves,  a 
roaring  flame  mounts  aloft  with  a  deep  and  fitful  sound  as 


A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE.  If 

of  a  shaken  carpet,  —  epithets  again ;  I  must  recur  to 
poetry  at  once  :  — 

Then  shine  the  bars,  the  cakes  in  smoke  aspire, 

A  sudden  glory  bursts  from  all  the  fire. 

The  conscious  wight,  rejoicing  in  the  heat, 

Rubs  the  blithe  knees,  and  toasts  th'  alternate  feet.* 

The  utility,  as  well  as  beauty,  of  the  fire  during  breakfast, 
need  not  be  pointed  out  to  the  most  unphlogistic  observer. 
A  person  would  rather  be  shivering  at  any  time  of  the  day 
than  at  that  of  his  first  rising ;  the  transition  would  be  too 
unnatural,  —  he  is  not  prepared  for  it,  as  Barnardine  says, 
when  he  objects  to  being  hanged.  If  you  eat  plain  bread 
and  butter  with  your  tea,  it  is  fit  that  your  moderation 
should  be  rewarded  with  a  good  blaze ;  and  if  you  indulge 
in  hot  rolls  or  toast,  you  will  hardly  keep  them  to  their 
warmth  without  it,  particularly  if  you  read ;  and  then,  if 
you  take  in  a  newspaper,  what  a  delightful  change  from 
the  wet,  raw,  dabbing  fold  of  paper  when  you  first  touch 
it,  to  the  dry,  crackling,  crisp  superficies  which,  with  a 
skilful  spat  of  the  finger-nails  at  its  upper  end,  stands  at 
once  in  your  hand,  and  looks  as  if  it  said,  "  Come  read 
me."  Nor  is  it  the  look  of  the  newspaper  only  which  the 
fire  must  render  complete  :  it  is  the  interest  of  the  ladies 
who  may  happen  to  form  part  of  your  family,  —  of  your 
wife  in  particular,  if  you  have  one,  —  to  avoid  the  niggling 
and  pinching  aspect  of  cold ;  it  takes  away  the  harmony 
of  her  features,  and  the  graces  of  her  behavior ;  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  there  is  scarcely  a  more  interesting  sight 
in  the  world  than  that  of  a  neat,  delicate,  good-humored 


*  Parody  upon  part  of  the  well-known  description  of  night,  with  which 
Pope  has  swelled  out  the  passage  in  Homer,  and  the  faults  of  which  have  long 
been  appreciated  by  general  readers. 

2 


16  A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 

female  presiding  at  your  breakfast-table,  with  hands  taper- 
ing out  of  her  long  sleeves,  eyes  with  a  touch  of  Sir  Peter 
Lely  in  them,  and  a  face  set  in  a  little  oval  frame  of  mus- 
lin tied  under  the  chin,  and  retaining  a  certain  tinge  of  the 
pillow  without  its  cloudiness.  This  is,  indeed,  the  finish- 
ing grace  of  a  fireside,  though' it  is  impossible  to  have  it 
at  all  times,  and  perhaps  not  always  politic,  —  especially 
for  the  studious. 

From  breakfast  to  dinner,  the  quantity  and  quality  of 
enjoyment  depend  very  much  on  the  nature  of  one's  con- 
cerns ;  and  occupation  of  any  kind,  if  we  pursue  it  prop- 
erly, will  hinder  us  from  paying  a  critical  attention  to  the 
fireside.  It  is  sufficient,  if  our  employments  do  not  take 
us  away  from  it,  or  at  least  from  the  genial  warmth  of  a 
room  which  it  adorns,  —  unless,  indeed,  we  are  enabled  to 
have  recourse  to  exercise ;  and  in  that  case,  I  am  not  so 
unjust  as  to  deny  that  walking  or  riding  has  its  merits,  and 
that  the  general  glow  they  diffuse  throughout  the  frame 
has  something  in  it  so  extremely  pleasurable  and  encour-  • 
aging ;  nay,  I  must  not  scruple  to  confess  that,  without 
some  preparation  of  this  kind,  the  enjoyment  of  the  fire- 
side, humanly  speaking,  is  not  absolutely  perfect,  as  I  have 
latterly  been  convinced  by  a  variety  of  incontestable  argu- 
ments in  the  shape  of  headaches,  rheumatisms,  mote-haunt- 
ed eyes,  and  other  logical  appeals  to  one's  feelings  which 
are  in  great  use  with  physicians.  Supposing,  therefore,  the 
morning  to  be  passed,  and  the  due  portion  of  exercise  to 
have  been  taken,  the  firesider  fixes  rather  an  early  hour 
for  dinner,  particularly  in  the  winter-time  ;  for  he  has  not 
only  been  early  at  breakfast,  but  there  are  two  luxurious 
intervals  to  enjoy  between  dinner  and  the  time  of  candles  : 
one  that  supposes  a  party  round  the  fire  with  their  wine 
and  fruit ;  the  other,  the  hour  of  twilight,  of  which  it  has 


A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 


l9 


been  reasonably  doubted  whether  it  is  not  the  most  luxu- 
rious point  of  time  which  a  fireside  can  present ;  but  opin- 
ions will  naturally  be  divided  on  this  as  on  all  other 
subjects,  and  every  degree  of  pleasure  depends  upon  so 
many  contingencies,  and  upon  such  a  variety  of  associa- 
tions, induced  by  habit  and  opinion,  that  I  should  be  as 
unwilling  as  I  am  unable  to  decide  on  the  matter.  This, 
however,  is  certain,  that  no  true  firesider  can  dislike  an 
hour  so  composing  to  his  thoughts,  and  so  cherishing 
to  his  whole  faculties ;  and  it  is  equally  certain  that 
he  will  be  little  inclined  to  protract  the  dinner  beyond 
what  he  can  help,  for  if  ever  a  fireside  becomes  unpleas- 
ant, it  is  during  that  gross  and  pernicious  prolongation 
of  eating  and  drinking,  to  which  this  latter  age  has  given 
itself  up,  and  which  threatens  to  make  the  rising  genera- 
tion regard  a  meal  of  repletion  as  the  ultimatum  of  enjoy- 
ment. 

The  inconvenience  to  which  I  allude  is  owing  to  the 
way  in  which  we  sit  at  dinner,  for  the  persons  who  have 
their  backs  to  the  fire  are  liable  to  be  scorched,  while,  at 
the  same  time,  they  render  the  persons  opposite  them 
liable  to  be  frozen  :  so  that  the  fire  becomes  uncomfortable 
to  the  former,  and  tantalizing  to  the  latter ;  and  thus  three 
evils  are  produced,  of  a  most  absurd  and  scandalous  na- 
ture :  in  the  first  place,  the  fireside  loses  a  degree  of  its 
character,  and  awakens  feelings  the  very  reverse  of  what 
it  should  ;  secondly,  the  position  of  the  back  towards  it  is 
a  neglect  and  affront,  which  it  becomes  it  to  resent ;  and 
finally,  its  beauties,  its  proffered  kindness,  and  its  sprightly 
social  effect  are  at  once  cut  off  from  the  company  by  the 
interposition  of  those  invidious  and  idle  surfaces  called 
screens.  This  abuse  is  the  more  ridiculous,  inasmuch  as 
the  remedy  is  so  easy:  for  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 


20  A   DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 

use  semicircular  dining-tables,  with  the  base  unoccupied 
towards  the  fireplace,  and  the  whole  annoyance  vanishes  at 
once  ;  the  master  or  mistress  might  preside  in  the  middle, 
as  was  the  custom  with  the  Romans,  and  thus  propriety 
would  be  observed,  while  everybody  had  the  sight  and 
benefit  of  the  fire ;  not  to  mention  that,  by  this  fashion, 
the  table  might  be  brought  nearer  to  it,  that  the  servants 
would  have  better  access  to  the  dishes,  and  that  screens, 
if  at  all  necessary,  might  be  turned  to  better  purpose  as 
a  general  enclosure  instead  of  a  separation. 

But  I  hasten  from  dinner,  according  to  notice  ;  and  can- 
not but  observe  that,  if  you  have  a  small  set  of  visitors 
who  enter  into  your  feelings  on  this  head,  there  is  no 
movement  so  pleasant  as  a  general  one  from  the  table  to 
the  fireside,  each  person  taking  his  glass  with  him,  and  a 
small,  slim-legged  table  being  introduced  into  the  circle 
for  the  purpose  of  holding  the  wine,  and  perhaps  a  poet 
or  two,  a  glee-book,  or  a  lute.  If  this  practice  should  be- 
come general  among  those  who  know  how  to  enjoy  luxur- 
ies in  such  temperance  as  not  to  destroy  conversation,  it 
would  soon  gain  for  us  another  social  advantage,  by  put- 
ting an  end  to  the  barbarous  custom  of  sending  away  the 
ladies  after  dinner,  — a  gross  violation  of  those  chivalrous 
graces  of  life,  for  which  modern  times  are  so  highly  in- 
debted to  the  persons  whom  they  are  pleased  to  term 
Gothic.  And  here  I  might  digress,  with  no  great  impro- 
priety, to  show  the  snug  notions  that  were  entertained  by 
the  knights  and  damsels  of  old  in  all  particulars  relating 
to  domestic  enjoyment,  especially  in  the  article  of  mixed 
company ;  but  I  must  not  quit  the  fireside,  and  will  only 
observe  that,  as  the  ladies  formed  its  chief  ornament,  so 
they  constituted  its  most  familiar  delight. 


A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE.  21 

"  The  minstralcie,  the  service  at  the  feste, 
The  grete  yeftes  to  the  most  and  leste, 
The  riche  array  of  Theseus'  paleis, 
Ne  who  sate  first,  ne  last  upon  the  deis, 
What  ladies  fairest  ben,  or  best  dancing, 
Or  which  of  hem  can  carole  best  or  sing, 
Ne  who  most  felingly  speketh  of  love ; 
What  haukis  sitten  on  the  perch  above, 
What  houndis  liggen  on  the  flour  adoun,  — 
Of  all  this  now  make  I  no  mencioun." 

Chaucer. 

The  word  snug,  however,  reminds  me  that  amidst  all 
the  languages,  ancient  and  modern,  it  belongs  exclusively 
to  our  own  ;  and  that  nothing  but  a  want  of  ideas  sug- 
gested by  that  soul-wrapping  epithet  could  have  induced 
certain  frigid  connoisseurs  to  tax  our  climate  with  want  of 
genius,  —  supposing,  forsooth,  that  because  we  have  not 
the  sunshine  of  the  Southern  countries,  we  have  no  other 
warmth  for  our  veins,  and  that,  because  our  skies  are  not 
hot  enough  to  keep  us  in  doors,  we  have  no  excursiveness 
of  wit  and  range  of  imagination.  It  seems  to  me  that  a 
great  deal  of  good  argument  in  refutation  of  these  calum- 
nies has  been  wasted  upon  Monsieur  du  Bos  and  the  Herr 
Winckelman  :  the  one  a  narrow-minded,  pedantic  French- 
man, to  whom  the  freedom  of  our  genius  was  incompre- 
hensible ;  the  other,  an  Italianized  German,  who  being 
suddenly  transported  into  the  sunshine,  began  frisking 
about  with  unwieldy  vivacity,  and  concluded  that  nobody 
could  be  great  or  bewitching  out  of  the  pale  of  his  advan- 
tages. Milton,  it  is  true,  in  his  "  Paradise  Lost,"  ex- 
presses an  injudicious  apprehension  lest  — 

"  An  age  too  late,  or  cold 
Climate,  or  years,  damp  his  intended  wing  ; " 

but  the  very  complaint  which  foreign  critics  bring  against 
him,  as  well  as  Shakespeare,  is  that  his  wing  was  not 


22  A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 

damped  enough,  —  that  it  was  too  daring  and  unsubdued  ; 
and  he  not  only  avenges  himself  nobly  of  his  fears  by  a 
flight  beyond  all  Italian  poetry,  but  shows,  like  the  rest  of 
his  countrymen,  that  he  could  turn  the  coldness  of  his 
climate  into  a  new  species  of  inspiration,  as  I  shall  pres- 
ently make  manifest.  Not  to  mention,  however,  that  the 
Greeks  and  Romans,  Homer  in  particular,  saw  a  great 
deal  worse  weather  than  these  critics  would  have  us  imag- 
ine ;  the  question  is,  would  the  poets  themselves  have 
thought  as  they  did?  Would  Tyrtaeus,  the  singer  of 
patriotism,  have  complained  of  being  an  Englishman  ? 
Would  Virgil,  who  delighted  in  husbandry,  and  whose 
first  wish  was  to  be  a  philosopher,  have  complained  of 
living  in  our  pastures,  and  being  the  countryman  of  New- 
ton ?  Would  Homer,  the  observer  of  character,  the  pan- 
egyrist of  freedom,  the  painter  of  storms,  of  landscapes, 
and  of  domestic  tenderness,  —  aye,  and  the  lover  of  snug 
house-room  and  a  good  dinner,  —  would  he  have  com- 
plained of  our  humors,  of  our  liberty,  of  our  shifting 
skies,  of  our  ever-green  fields,  our  conjugal  happiness, 
our  firesides,  and  our  hospitality  ?  I  only  wish  the  reader 
and  I  had  him  at  this  party  of  ours  after  dinner,  with  a 
lyre  on  his  knee,  and  a  goblet,  as  he  says,  to  drink  as  he 
pleased,  — 

"Piein,  hote  thumos  anogoi." 

Odyss.  lib.  viii.  v.  70. 

I  am  much  mistaken  if  our  blazing  fire  and  our  freedom 
of  speech  would  not  give  him  a  warmer  inspiration  than 
ever  he  felt  in  the  person  of  Demodocus,  even  though 
placed  on  a  lofty  seat,  and  regaled  with  slices  of  brawn 
from  a  prince's  table.  The  ancients,  in  fact,  were  by  no 
means  deficient  in  enthusiasm  at  sight  of  a  good  fire  ;  and 
it  is  to  be  presumed  that,  if  they  had  enjoyed  such  firesides 


A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE.  23 

as  ours,  they  would  have  acknowledged  the  advantages 
which  our  genius  presents  in  winter,  and  almost  been 
ready  to  conclude,  with  old  Cleveland,  that  the  sun  him- 
self was  nothing  but  — 

"  Heaven's  coalery  ;  — 
A  coal-pit  rampant,  or  a  mine  on  flame." 

The  ancient  hearth  was  generally  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  the  ceiling  of  which  let  out  the  smoke ;  it  was  sup- 
plied with  charcoal  or  faggots,  and  consisted  sometimes 
of  a  brazier  or  chafing-dish  (the  focus  of  the  Romans), 
sometimes  of  a  mere  elevation  or  altar  (the  eana  or  eaxapa 
of  the  Greeks).  We  may  easily  imagine  the  smoke  and 
annoyance  which  this  custom  must  have  occasioned, — 
not  to  mention  the  bad  complexions  which  are  caught  by 
hanging  over  a  fuming-pan,  as  the  faces  of  the  Spanish  la- 
dies bear  melancholy  witness.  The  stoves,  however,  in  use 
with  the  countrymen  of  Mons.  du  Bos  and  Winckelman 
are,  if  possible,  still  worse,  having  a  dull,  suffocating  ef- 
fect, with  nothing  to  recompense  the  eye.  The  abhorrence 
of  them  which  Ariosto  expresses  in  one  of  his  satires, 
when,  justifying  his  refusal  to  accompany  Cardinal  d'Este 
into  Germany,  he  reckons  up  the  miseries  of  its  winter- 
time, may  have  led  M.  Winckelman  to  conclude  that  all 
the  Northern  resources  against  cold  were  equally  intolera- 
ble to  an  Italian  genius  ;  but  Count  Alfieri,  a  poet,  at  least 
as  warmly  inclined  as  Ariosto,  delighted  in  England ;  and 
the  great  romancer  himself,  in  another  of  his  satires, 
makes  a  commodious  fireplace  the  climax  of  his  wishes 
with  regard  to  lodging.  In  short,  what  did  Horace  say, 
or  rather  what  did  he  not  say,  of  the  raptures  of  in-door 
sociality,  —  Horace,  who  knew  how  to  enjoy  sunshine  in 
all  its  luxury,  and  who  nevertheless  appears  to  have 
snatched  a  finer  inspiration  from  absolute  frost  and  snow  ? 


24  A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 

I  need  not  quote  all  those  beautiful  little  invitations  he 
sent  to  his  acquaintances,  telling  one  of  them  that  a  neat 
room  and  a  sparkling  fire  were  waiting  for  him  ;  describ- 
ing to  another  the  smoke  springing  out  of  the  roof  in 
curling  volumes,  and  even  congratulating  his  friends  in 
general  on  the  opportunity  of  enjoyment  afforded  them  by 
a  stormy  day ;  but,  to  take  leave  at  once  of  these  frigid 
connoisseurs,  hear  with  what  rapture  he  describes  one  of 
those  friendly  parties,  in  which  he  passed  his  winter  even- 
ings, and  which  only  wanted  the  finish  of  our  better  mor- 
ality and  our  patent  fireplaces,  to  resemble  the  one  I  am 
now  fancying. 

"  Vides.  ut  alta  stet  nive  candidum 
Soracte,  nee  jam  sustineant  onus 
Silvae  laborantes,  geluque 
Flumina  constiterint  acuto : 

Dissolve  frigus  ligna  super  foco 
Large  reponens,  atque  benignius 
Deprome  quadrimum  Sabina, 
O  Thaliarche,  merura  diota. 

Permitte  Divis  ca;tera ;     .     . 


Donee  virenti  canities  abest 
Morosa.     Nunc  et  campus,  et  area;, 
Lenesque  sub  noctem  susurri 
Composite  repetantur  hora ; 

Nunc  et  latentis  proditor  intimo 
Gratus  puellae  risus  ab  angulo, 
Pignusque  dereptum  lacertis 
Aut  digito  male  pertinaci." 

Lib.  I.  Od.  9. 

"  Behold  yon  mountain's  hoary  height 

Made  higher  with  new  mounts  of  snow ; 
Again  behold  the  winter's  weight 
Oppress  the  lab'ring  woods  below, 


A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE.  35 

And  streams  with  icy  fetters  bound 
Benumb' d  and  crampt  to  solid  ground. 

With  well-heap'd  logs  dissolve  the  cold, 

And  feed  the  genial  hearth  with  fires, 
Produce  the  wine  that  makes  us  bold, 

And  sprightly  wit  and  mirth  inspires. 
For  what  hereafter  shall  betide, 
Jove,  if  'tis  worth  his  care,  provide. 


Th'  appointed  hour  of  promis'd  bliss, 

The  pleasing  whisper  in  the  dark, 
The  half  unwilling,  willing  kiss, 

The  laugh  that  guides  thee  to  the  mark, 
When  the  kind  nymph  would  coyness  feign, 
And  hides  but  to  be  found  again, 
These,  these  are  joys  the  gods  for  youth  ordain." 

Drydkn. 

The  Roman  poet,  however,  though  he  occasionally 
boasts  of  his  temperance,  is  too  apt  to  lose  sight  of  the 
intellectual  part  of  his  entertainment,  or  at  least  to  make 
the  sensual  part  predominate  over  the  intellectual.  Now, 
I  reckon  the  nicety  of  social  enjoyment  to  consist  in  the 
reverse ;  and,  after  partaking  with  Homer  of  his  plenti- 
ful boiled  and  roast,  and  with  Horace  of  his  flower- 
crowned  wine-parties,  the  poetical  reader  must  come  at 
last  to  us  barbarians  of  the  North  for  the  perfection  of 
fireside  festivity,  —  that  is  to  say,  for  the  union  of  practi- 
cal philosophy  with  absolute  merriment,  —  for  light  meals 
and  unintoxicating  glasses  ;  for  refection  that  administers 
to  enjoyment,  instead  of  repletions  that  at  once  constitute 
and  contradict  it.  I  am  speaking,  of  course,  not  of  our 
commonplace  eaters  and  drinkers,  but  of  our  classical 
arbiters  of  pleasure,  as  contrasted  with  those  of  other 
countries ;  these,  it  is  observable,  have  all  delighted  in 
Horace,  and  copied  him  as  far  as  their  tastes  were  con- 


26  A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 

genial ;  but,  without  relaxing  a  jot  of  their  real  comfort, 
how  pleasingly  does  their  native  philosophy  temper  and 
adorn  the  freedom  of  their  conviviality,  —  feeding  the  fire, 
as  it  were,  with  an  equable  fuel  that  hinders  it  alike  from 
scorching  and  from  going  out,  and,  instead  of  the  artificial 
enthusiasm  of  a  heated  body,  enabling  them  to  enjoy  the 
healthful  and  unclouded  predominance  of  a  sparkling  in- 
telligence !  It  is  curious,  indeed,  to  see  how  distinct  from 
all  excess  are  their  freest  and  heartiest  notions  of  relaxa- 
tion. Thus  our  old  poet,  Drayton,  reminding  his  favorite 
companion  of  a  fireside  meeting,  expressly  unites  freedom 
with  moderation :  — 

"  My  dearly  loved  friend,  how  oft  have  we 
In  winter  evenings,  meaning  to  be  free, 
To  some  well-chosen  place  us'd  to  retire, 
And  there  with  moderate  meat,  and  wine,  and  fire, 
Have  pass'd  the  hours  contentedly  in  chat, 
Now  talk'd  of  this,  and  then  discours'd  of  that,  — 
Spoke  our  own  verses  'twixt  ourselves,  — if  not 
Other  men's  lines,  which  we  by  chance  had  got." 
Epistle  to  Henry  Reynolds,  Esq.,  of Poets  and  Poeiy. 

And  Milton,  in  his  "  Sonnet  to  Cyriack  Skinner,"  one  of 
the  turns  of  which  is  plainly  imitated  from  Horace,  par- 
ticularly qualifies  a  strong  invitation  to  merriment  by  an- 
ticipating what  Horace  would  always  drive  from  your 
reflections,  —  the  feelings  of  the  day  after  :  — 

"  Cyriack,  whose  Grandsire,  on  the  royal  bench 

Of  British  Themis,  with  no  mean  applause 

Pronounc'd,  and  in  his  volumes  taught,  our  laws, 
Which  others  at  their  bar  so  often  wrench  ; 
To-day  deep  thoughts  resolve  -with  me  to  drench 

In  mirth,  that,  after,  no  repenting  draws. 

Let  Euclid  rest,  and  Archimedes  pause, 
And  what  the  Swede  intends,  and  what  the  French 
To  measure  life  learn  thou  betimes,  and  know 

Tow'rd  solid  good  what  leads  the  nearest  way  ■ 


A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE.  27 

For  other  things  mild  Heav'n  a  time  ordains, 
And  disapproves  that  care,  though  wise  in  show, 
That  with  superfluous  burden  loads  the  day, 
And  when  God  sends  a  cheerful  hour,  refrains." 

But  the  execution  of  this  sonnet  is  not  to  be  compared  in 
gracefulness  and  a  finished  sociality  with  the  one  addressed 
to  his  friend  Lawrence,  which,  as  it  presents  us  with  the 
acme  of  elegant  repast,  may  conclude  the  hour  which  I 
have  just  been  describing,  and  conduct  us  complacently 
to  our  twilight, — 

"  Lawrence,  of  virtuous  father  virtuous  son, 

Now  that  the  fields  are  dank,  and  ways  are  mire, 

Where  shall  we  sometimes  meet,  and  by  the  fire 
Help  waste  a  sullen  day,  — what  may  be  won 
From  the  hard  season  gaining?.   Time  will  run 

On  smoother,  till  Favonius  re-inspire 

The  frozen  earth,  and  clothe  in  fresh  attire 
The  lily  and  rose,  that  neither  sow'd  nor  spun. 
What  neat  repast  shall  feast  us,  light  and  choice, 

Of  Attic  taste,  with  wine,  whence  we  may  rise 
To  hear  the  lute  well-touch'd,  and  artful  voice 

Warble  immortal  notes  and  Tuscan  air? 

He  who  of  these  delights  can  judge,  and  spare 
To  interpose  them  oft,  is  not  unwise." 

But  twilight  comes :  and  the  lover  of  the  fireside,  for 
the  perfection  of  the  moment,  is  now  alone.  He  was 
reading  a  minute  or  two  ago,  and  for  some  time  was  un- 
conscious of  the  increasing  dusk,  till,  on  looking  up,  he 
perceived  the  objects  out  of  doors  deepening  into  massy 
outline,  while  the  sides  of  his  fireplace  began  to  reflect  the 
light  of  the  flames,  and  the  shadow  of  himself  and  his 
chair  fidgeted  with  huge  obscurity  on  the  wall.  Still  wish- 
ing to  read,  he  pushed  himself  nearer  and  nearer  the  win- 
dow, and  continued  fixing  on  his  book  till  he  happened  to 
take  another  glance  out  of  doors,  and  on  returning  to  it, 
could  make  out  nothing.     He  therefore  lays  it  aside,  and 


28  A   DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 

restoring  his  chair  to  the  fireplace,  seats  himself  right 
before  it  in  a  reclining  posture,  his  feet  apart  upon  the 
fender,  his  eyes  bent  down  towards  the  grate,  his  arms  on 
the  chair's  elbows,  one  hand  hanging  down,  and  the  palm 
of  the  other  turned  up  and  presented  to  the  fire,  —  not  to 
keep  it  from  him,  for  there  is  no  glare  or  scorch  about 
it,  but  to  intercept  and  have  a  more  kindly  feel  of  its 
genial  warmth.  It  is  thus  that  the  greatest  and  wisest  of 
mankind  have  sat  and  meditated ;  a  homely  truism,  per- 
haps, but  such  a  one  as  we  are  apt  enough  to  forget.  We 
talk  of  going  to  Athens  or  to  Rome  to  see  the  precise  ob- 
jects which  the  Greeks  and  Romans  beheld ;  and  forget 
that  the  moon,  which  may  be  looking  upon  us  at  the  mo- 
ment, is  the  same  identical  planet  that  enchanted  Homer 
and  Virgil,  and  that  has  been  contemplated  and  admired 
by  all  the  great  men  and  geniuses  that  have  existed  :  by 
Socrates  and  Plato  in  Athens,  by  the  Antonines  in  Rome, 
by  the  Alfreds,  the  l'Hospitals,  the  Miltons,  Newtons,  and 
Shakespeares.  In  like  manner,  we  are  anxious  to  dis- 
cover how  these  great  men  and  poets  appeared  in  com- 
mon, what  habits  they  loved,  in  what  way  they  talked  and 
meditated,  nay,  in  what  postures  they  delighted  to  sit,  and 
whether  they  indulged  in  the  same  tricks  and  little  com- 
forts that  we  do.  Look  at  nature  and  their  works,  and  we 
shall  see  that  they  did ;  and  that,  when  we  act  naturally 
and  think  earnestly,  we  are  reflecting  their  commonest 
habits  to  the  life.  Thus  we  have  seen  Horace  talking  of 
his  blazing  hearth  and  snug  accommodations  like  the  jol- 
liest  of  our  acquaintances  ;  and  thus  we  may  safely  imag- 
ine that  Milton  was  in  some  such  attitude  as  I  have 
described,  when  he  sketched  that  enchanting  little  picture 
which  beats  all  the  cabinet  portraits  that  have  been  pro- 
duced, — 


A   DAY    BY    THE    FIRE.  29 

"  Or  if  the  air  will  not  permit, 
Some  still  removed  place  will  fit, 
Where  glowing  embers  through  the  room 
Teach  light  to  counterfeit  a  gloom, 
Far  from  all  resort  of  mirth, 
Save  the  cricket  on  the  hearth, 
Or  the  bellman's  drowsy  charm 
To  bless  the  doors  from  nightly  harm." 

But  to  attend  to  our  fireside.  The  evening  is  beginning 
to  gather  in.  The  window,  which  presents  a  large  face  of 
watery  gray,  intersected  by  strong  lines,  is  imperceptibly 
becoming  darker ;  and  as  that  becomes  darker,  the  fire 
assumes  a  more  glowing  presence.  The  contemplatist 
keeps  his  easy  posture,  absorbed  in  his  fancies  ;  and  every 
thing  around  him  is  still  and  serene.  The  stillness  would 
even  ferment  in  his  ear,  and  whisper,  as  it  were,  of  what 
the  air  contained  ;  but  a  minute  coil,  just  sufficient  to  hin- 
der that  busier  silence,  clicks  in  the  baking  coal,  while 
every  now  and  then  the  light  ashes  shed  themselves  be- 
low, or  a  stronger,  but  still  a  gentle,  flame  flutters  up  with 
a  gleam  over  the  chimney.  At  length,  the  darker  objects  in 
the  room  mingle  ;  the  gleam  of  the  fire  streaks  with  a  rest- 
less light  the  edges  of  the  furniture,  and  reflects  itself  in 
the  blackening  window  ;  while  his  feet  take  a  gentle  move 
on  the  fender,  and  then  settle  again,  and  his  face  comes 
out  of  the  general  darkness,  earnest  even  in  indolence, 
and  pale  in  the  very  ruddiness  of  what  it  looks  upon. 
This  is  the  only  time,  perhaps,  at  which  sheer  idleness  is 
salutary  and  refreshing.  How  observed  with  the  smallest 
effort  is  every  trick  and  aspect  of  the  fire  !  A  coal  falling 
in,  a  fluttering  flame,  a  miniature  mockery  of  a  flash  of 
lightning,  —  nothing  escapes  the  eye  and  the  imagination. 
Sometimes  a  little  flame  appears  at  the  corner  of  the  grate 
like  a  quivering  spangle ;  sometimes  it  swells  out  at  top 


30  A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 

into  a  restless  and  brief  lambency ;  anon  it  is  seen  only 
by  a  light  beneath  the  grate,  or  it  curls  around  one  of  the 
bars  like  a  tongue,  or  darts  out  with  a  spiral  thinness  and 
a  sulphurous  and  continued  puffing  as  from  a  reed.  The 
glowing  coals  meantime  exhibit  the  shifting  forms  of  hills 
and  vales  and  gulfs,  —  of  fiery  Alps,  whose  heat  is  unin- 
habitable even  by  spirit,  or  of  black  precipices,  from  which 
swart  fairies  seem  about  to  spring  away  on  sable  wings  ; 
then  heat  and  fire  are  forgotten,  and  walled  towns  appear, 
and  figures  of  unknown  animals,  and  far-distant  countries 
scarcely  to  be  reached  by  human  journey ;  then  coaches 
and  camels,  and  barking  dogs  as  large  as  either,  and  forms 
that  combine  every  shape  and  suggest  every  fancy,  till  at 
last,  the  ragged  coals  tumbling  together,  reduce  the  vision 
to  chaos,  and  the  huge  profile  of  a  gaunt  and  grinning  face 
seems  to  make  a  jest  of  all  that  has  passed. 

During  these  creations  of  the  eye,  the  thought  roves 
about  into  a  hundred  abstractions,  some  of  them  sug- 
gested by  the  fire,  some  of  them  suggested  by  that  sugges- 
tion, some  of  them  arising  from  the  general  sensation  of 
comfort  and  composure,  contrasted  with  whatever  the 
world  affords  of  evil,  or  dignified  by  high  wrought  medita- 
tion on  whatsoever  gives  hope  to  benevolence  and  inspira- 
tion to  wisdom.  The  philosopher  at  such  moments  plans 
his  Utopian  schemes,  and  dreams  of  happy  certainties 
which  he  cannot  prove  ;  the  lover,  happier  and  more  cer- 
tain, fancies  his  mistress  with  him,  unobserved  and  confid- 
ing, his  arm  round  her  waist,  her  head  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  earth  and  heaven  contained  in  that  sweet  possession  ; 
the  poet,  thoughtful  as  the  one,  and  ardent  as  the  other, 
springs  off  at  once  above  the  world,  treads  every  turn  of 
the  harmonious  spheres,  darts  up  with  gleaming  wings 
through  the  sunshine  of  a  thousand  systems,  and   stops 


A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE.  3 1 

not  till  he  has  found  a  perfect  paradise,  whose  fields  are 
of  young  roses,  and  whose  air  is  music,  whose  waters  are 
the  liquid  diamond,  whose  light  is  as  radiance  through 
crystal,  whose  dwellings  are  laurel  bowers,  whose  language 
is  poetry,  whose  inhabitants  are  congenial  souls,  and  to 
enter  the  very  verge  of  whose  atmosphere  strikes  beauty 
on  the  face,  and  felicity  on  the  heart.  Alas,  that  flights  so 
lofty  should  ever  be  connected  with  earth  by  threads  as 
slender  as  they  are  long,  and  that  the  least  twitch  of  the 
most  commonplace  hand  should  be  able  to  snatch  down 
the  viewless  wanderer  to  existing  comforts  !  The  entrance 
of  a  single  candle  dissipates  at  once  the  twilight  and  the 
sunshine,  and  the  ambitious  dreamer  is  summoned  to  his 
tea! 

"  Now  stir  the  fire,  and  close  the  shutters  fast, 
Let  fall  the  curtains,  wheel  the  sofa  round, 
And,  while  the  bubbling  and  loud-hissing  urn 
Throws  up  a  steamy  column,  and  the  cups 
That  cheer,  but  not  inebriate,  wait  on  each, 
So  let  us  welcome  peaceful  evening  in." 

Never  was  snug  hour  more  feelingly  commenced !  Cow- 
per  was  not  a  great  poet ;  his  range  was  neither  wide  nor 
lofty  ;  but  such  as  it  was,  he  had  it  completely  to  himself, 
—  he  is  the  poet  of  quiet  life  and  familiar  observation. 
The  fire,  we  see,  is  now  stirred,  and  becomes  very  differ- 
ent from  the  one  we  have  just  left ;  it  puts  on  its  liveliest 
aspect  in  order  to  welcome  those  to  whom  the  tea-table  is 
a  point  of  meeting,  and  it  is  the  business  of  the  firesider 
to  cherish  this  aspect  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening. 
How  light  and  easy  the  coals  look  !  How  ardent  is  the 
roominess  within  the  bars !  How  airily  do  the  volumes 
of  smoke  course  each  other  up  the  chimney,  like  so  many 
fantastic  and  indefinite  spirits,  while  the  eye  in  vain  en- 


£2  A   DAY    BY   THE    FIRE. 

deavors  to  accompany  any  one  of  them  !  The  flames  are 
not  so  fierce  as  in  the  morning,  but  still  they  are  active 
and  powerful ;  and  if  they  do  not  roar  up  the  chimney, 
they  make  a  constant  and  playful  noise,  that  is  extremely 
to  the  purpose.  Here  they  come  out  at  top  with  a  leafy 
swirl ;  there  they  dart  up  spirally  and  at  once  ;  there 
they  form  a  lambent  assemblage  that  shifts  about  on  its 
own  ground,  and  is  continually  losing  and  regaining  its 
vanishing  members.  I  confess  I  take  particular  delight 
in  seeing  a  good  blaze  at  top  ;  and  my  impatience  to  pro- 
duce it  will  sometimes  lead  me  into  great  rashness  in  the 
article  of  poking ;  that  is  to  say,  I  use  the  poker  at  the 
top  instead  of  the  middle  of  the  fire,  and  go  probing  it 
about  in  search  of  a  flame.  A  lady  of  my  acquaintance, 
—  "  near  and  dear,"  as  they  say  in  Parliament,  —  will  tell 
me  of  this  fault  twenty  times  in  a  day,  and  every  time  so 
good-humoredly  that  it  is  mere  want  of  generosity  in  me 
not  to  amend  it ;  but  somehow  or  other  I  do  not.  The 
consequence  is  that,  after  a  momentary  ebullition  of  blaze, 
the  fire  becomes  dark  and  sleepy,  and  is  in  danger  of  go- 
ing out.  It  is  like  a  boy  at  schcol  in  the  hands  of  a  bad 
master,  who,  thinking  him  dull,  and  being  impatient  to 
render  him  brilliant,  beats  him  about  the  head  and  ears 
till  he  produces  the  very  evil  he  would  prevent  But,  on 
the  present  occasion,  I  forbear  to  use  the  poker  ;  there  is 
no  need  of  it :  every  thing  is  comfortable,  —  every  thing 
snug  and  sufficient.  How  equable  is  the  warmth  around 
us  !  How  cherishing  this  rug  to  one's  feet !  How  com- 
placent the  cup  at  one's  lip !  What  a  fine  broad  light  is 
diffused  from  the  fire  over  the  circle,  gleaming  in  the  urn 
and  the  polished  mahogany,  bringing  out  the  white  gar- 
ments of  the  ladies,  and  giving  a  poetic  warmth  to  their 
face  and  hair!     I  need  not  mention  all  the  good  things 


A   DAY   BY   THE   FIRE.  33 

that  are  said  at  tea,  —  still  less  the  gallant.  Good  humor 
never  has  an  audience  more  disposed  to  think  it  wit,  nor 
gallantry  an  hour  of  service  more  blameless  and  elegant. 
Ever  since  tea  has  been  known,  its  clear  and  gentle 
powers  of  inspiration  have  been  acknowledged,  from  Wal- 
ler paying  his  court  at  the  circle  of  Catharine  of  Braganza, 
to  Dr.  Johnson  receiving  homage  at  the  parties  of  Mrs. 
Thrale.  The  former,  in  his  lines,  upon  hearing  it  "  com- 
mended by  her  Majesty,"  ranks  it  at  once  above  myrtle 
and  laurel,  and  her  Majesty,  of  course,  agreed  with 
him:  — 

"  Venus  her  myrtle,  Phoebus  has  his  bays ; 
Tea  both  excels,  which  she  vouchsafes  to  praise. 
The  best  of  queens,  and  best  of  herbs,  we  owe 
To  that  bold  nation,  which  the  way  did  show 
To  the  fair  region  where  the  sun  does  rise, 
Whose  rich  productions  we  so  justly  prize. 
The  Muse's  friend,  Tea,  does  our  fancy  aid, 
Repress  those  vapours  which  the  head  invade, 
And  keeps  that  palace  of  the  soul  serene, 
Fit,  on  her  birth-day,  to  salute  the  Queen." 

The  eulogies  pronounced  on  his  favorite  beverage  by 
Dr.  Johnson,  are  too  well  known  to  be  repeated  here  ;  and 
the  commendatory  inscription  of  the  Emperor  Kien  Long, 
to  an  European  taste  at  least,  is  somewhat  too  dull,  un- 
less his  Majesty's  teapot  has  been  shamefully  translated. 
For  my  own  part,  though  I  have  the  highest  respect,  as 
I  have  already  shown,  for  this  genial  drink,  which  is  warm 
to  the  cold,  and  cooling  to  the  warm,  I  confess,  as  Mon- 
taigne would  have  said,  that  I  prefer  coffee,  —  particularly 
in  my  political  capacity  :  — 

"  Coffee,  that  makes  the  Politician  wise 
To  see  through  all  things  with  his  half-shut  eyes." 

There  is  something  in  it,  I  think,  more  lively,  and,  at  the 

same  time,  more  substantial.     Besides,  I  never  see  it  but 

3 


34  A   DAY   BY   THE   FIRE. 

it  reminds  me  of  the  Turks  and  their  Arabian  tales,  —  an 
association  infinitely  preferable  to  any  Chinese  ideas  ;  and, 
like  the  king  who  put  his  head  into  the  tub,  I  am  trans- 
ported into  distant  lands  the  moment  I  dip  into  the  coffee- 
cup, —  at  one  minute  ranging  the  valleys  with  Sindbad,  at 
another  encountering  the  fairies  on  the  wing  by  moonlight, 
at  a  third  exploring  the  haunts  of  the  cursed  Maugraby, 
or  wrapt  into  the  silence  of  that  delicious  solitude  from 
which  Prince  Agib  was  carried  by  the  fatal  horse.  Then, 
if  I  wish  to  poeticize  upon  it  at  home,  there  is  Belinda, 
with  her  sylphs,  drinking  it  in  such  state  as  nothing  but 
poetry  can  supply :  — 

"  For  lo  1  the  board  with  cups  and  spoons  is  crown'd, 
The  berries  crackle,  and  the  mill  turns  round : 
On  shining  altars  of  japan  they  raise 
The  silver  lamp ;  the  fiery  spirits  blaze ; 
From  silver  spouts  the  grateful  liquors  glide, 
And  China's  earth  receives  the  smoking  tide  : 
At  once  they  gratify  the  scent  and  taste, 
And  frequent  cups  prolong  the  rich  repast. 
Straight  hover  round  the  fair  her  airy  band  ; 
Some,  as  she  sipp'd,  the  fuming  liquor  fann'd  ; 
Some  o'er  her  lap  their  careful  plumes  display'd, 
Trembling,  and  conscious  of  the  rich  brocade." 

It  must  be  acknowledged,  however,  that  the  general  asso- 
ciation of  ideas  is  at  present  in  favor  of  tea,  which,  on 
that  account,  has  the  advantage  of  suggesting  no  confine- 
ment to  particular  ranks  or  modes  of  life.  Let  there  be 
but  a  fireside,  and  anybody,  of  any  denomination,  may  be 
fancied  enjoying  the  luxury  of  a  cup  of  tea,  from  the 
duchess  in  the  evening  drawing-room,  who  makes  it  the 
instrument  of  displaying  her  white  hand,  to  the  washer- 
woman at  her  early  tub,  who,  having  had  nothing  to  signify 
since  five,  sits  down  to  it  with  her  shining  arms  and  cor- 
rugated fingers  at  six.     If  there  is  any  one  station  of  life 


A   DAY   BY   THE   FIRE.  35 

in  which  it  is  enjoyed  to  most  advantage,  it  is  that  of  medi- 
ocrity :  that  in  which  all  comfort  is  reckoned  to  be  best 
appreciated,  because,  while  there  is  taste  to  enjoy,  there 
is  necessity  to  earn  the  enjoyment;  and  I  cannot  conclude 
the  hour  before  us  with  a  better  climax  of  snugness  than 
is  presented  in  the  following  pleasing  little  verses.  The 
author,  I  believe,  is  unknown,  and  may  not  have  been 
much  of  a  poet  in  matters  of  fiction ;  but  who  will  deny 
his  taste  for  matters  of  reality,  or  say  that  he  has  not 
handled  his  subject  to  perfection  ?  — 

"  The  hearth  was  clean,  the  fire  was  clear, 
The  kettle  on  for  tea, 
Palemon  in  his  elbow-chair, 
As  blest  as  man  could  be. 

Clarinda,  who  his  heart  possess' d, 

And  was  his  new-made  bride, 
With  head  reclin'd  upon  his  breast 

Sat  toying  by  his  side. 

Stretch'd  at  his  feet,  in  happy  state, 

A  fav'rite  dog  was  laid, 
By  whom  a  little  sportive  cat 

In  wanton  humour  play'd. 

Clarinda's  hand  he  gently  prest ; 

She  stole  an  amorous  kiss, 
And,  blushing,  modestly  confess'd 

The  fulness  of  her  bliss. 

Palemon,  with  a  heart  elate, 

Pray'd  to  Almighty  Jove 
That  it  might  ever  be  his  fate, 

Just  so  to  live  and  love. 

Be  this  eternity,  he  cried, 

And  let  no  more  be  given : 
Continue  thus  my  lov'd  fireside, 

I  ask  no  other  heaven." 

The  Happy  Fireside. 


36  A   DAY   BY   THE   FIRE. 

There  are  so  many  modes  of  spending  the  remainder  of 
the  evening  between  tea-time  and  bed-time  (for  I  protest 
against  all  suppers  that  are  not  light  enough  to  be  taken 
on  the  knee),  that  a  general  description  would  avail  me 
nothing,  and  I  cannot  be  expected  to  enter  into  such  a 
variety  of  particulars.  Suffice  it  to  say  that,  where  the 
fire  is  duly  appreciated,  and  the  circle  good  humored,  none 
of  them  can  be  unpleasant,  whether  the  party  be  large  or 
small,  young  or  old,  talkative  or  contemplative.  If  there 
is  music,  a  good  fire  will  be  particularly  grateful  to  the 
performers,  who  are  often  seated  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
room  ;  for  it  is  really  shameful  that  a  lady  who  is  charm- 
ing us  all  with  her  voice,  or  firing  us,  at  the  harp  or  piano, 
with  the  lightning  of  her  fingers,  should  at  the  very  mo- 
ment be  trembling  with  cold.  As  to  cards,  which  were 
invented  for  the  solace  of  a  mad  prince,  and  which  are 
only  tolerable,  in  my  opinion,  when  we  can  be  as  mad  as 
he  was,  that  is  to  say,  at  a  round  game,  I  cannot  by  any 
means  patronize  them,  as  a  conscientious  firesider :  for, 
not  to  mention  all  the  other  objections,  the  card-table  is  as 
awkward,  in  a  fireside  point  of  view,  as  the  dinner-table, 
and  is  not  to  be  compared  with  it  in  sociality.  If  it  be 
necessary  to  pay  so  ill  a  compliment  to  the  company  as  to 
have  recourse  to  some  amusement  of  the  kind,  there  is 
chess  or  draughts,  which  may  be  played  on  a  tablet  by  the 
fire ;  but  nothing  is  like  discourse,  freely  uttering  the 
fancy  as  it  comes,  and  varied,  perhaps,  with  a  little  music, 
or  with  the  perusal  of  some  favorite  passages  which  excite 
the  comments  of  the  circle.  It  is  then,  if  tastes  happen 
to  be  accordant,  and  the  social  voice  is  frank  as  well  as 
refined,  that  the  "  sweet  music  of  speech  "  is  heard  in  its 
best  harmony,  differing  only  for  apter  sweetness,  and 
mingling  but  for   happier   participation,  while   the   mu- 


A   DAY   BY   THE   FIRE.  37 

tual  sense  smilingly  blends  in  with  every  rising  meas- 
ure,— 

"  And  female  stop  smoothens  the  charm  o'er  all." 

This  is  the  finished  evening  ;  this  the  quickener  at  once 
and  the  calmer  of  tired  thought ;  this  the  spot  where  our 
better  spirits  await  to  exalt  and  enliven  us,  when  the  daily 
and  vulgar  ones  have  discharged  their  duty  ! 

"  Questo  e  il  Paradiso, 
Piu  dolce,  che  fra  1'  acque,  e  fra  1'  arene 
In  ciel  son  le  Sirene." 

Tasso.  —  Rime  A  morose. 

"  Here,  here  is  found 
A  sweeter  Paradise  of  sound 
Than  where  the  Sirens  take  their  summer  stands 
Among  the  breathing  waters  and  glib  sands." 

Bright  fires  and  joyous  faces  ;  and  it  is  no  easy  thing 
for  philosophy  to  say  good  night.  But  health  must  be 
enjoyed  or  nothing  will  be  enjoyed,  and  the  charm  should 
be  broken  at  a  reasonable  hour.  Far  be  it,  however,  from 
a  rational  firesider  not  to  make  exceptions  to  the  rule, 
when  friends  have  been  long  asunder,  or  when  some  do- 
mestic celebration  has  called  them  together,  or  even  when 
hours  peculiarly  congenial  render  it  difficult  to  part.  At  all 
events,  the  departure  must  be  a  voluntary  matter  ;  and  here 
I  cannot  help  exclaiming  against  the  gross  and  villanous 
trick  which  some  people  have,  when  they  wish  to  get  rid  of 
their  company,  of  letting  their  fires  go  down,  and  the 
snuffs  of  their  candles  run  to  seed :  it  is  paltry  and  palpa- 
ble, and  argues  bad  policy  as  well  as  breeding ;  for  such 
of  their  friends  as  have  a  different  feeling  of  things,  may 
chance  to  be  disgusted  with  them  altogether,  while  the 
careless  or  unpolite  may  choose  to  revenge  themselves  on 
the  appeal,  and  face  it  out  gravely  till  the  morning.     If  a 


38  A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 

common  visitor  be  inconsiderate  enough,  on  an  ordinary 
occasion,  to  sit  beyond  all  reasonable  hour,  it  must  be 
reckoned  as  a  fatality,  as  an  ignorance  of  men  and  things, 
against  which  you  cannot  possibly  provide  :  as  a  sort  of 
visitation,  which  must  be  borne  with  patience,  and  which 
is  not  likely  to  recur  often,  if  you  know  whom  you  invite, 
and  those  who  are  invited  know  you.  But  with  an  occa- 
sional excess  of  the  fireside  what  social  virtue  shall  quar- 
rel? A  single  friend,  perhaps,  loiters  behind  the  rest; 
you  are  alone  in  the  house  ;  you  have  just  got  upon  a  sub- 
ject delightful  to  you  both ;  the  fire  is  of  a  candent  bright- 
ness ;  the  wind  howls  out  of  doors  ;  the  rain  beats ;  the 
cold  is  piercing  !  Sit  down.  This  is  a  time  when  the 
most  melancholy  temperament  may  defy  the  clouds  and 
storms,  and  even  extract  from  them  a  pleasure  that  will 
take  no  substance  by  daylight.  The  ghost  of  his  happi- 
ness sits  by  him,  and  puts  on  the  likeness  of  former  hours ; 
and  if  such  a  man  can  be  made  comfortable  by  the  mo- 
ment, what  enjoyment  may  it  not  furnish  to  an  unclouded 
spirit!  If  the  excess  belong  not  to  vice,  temperance  does 
not  forbid  it  when  it  only  grows  out  of  the  occasion.  The 
great  poet,  whom  I  have  quoted  so  often  for  the  fireside, 
and  who  will  enjoy  it  with  us  to  the  last,  was,  like  the  rest 
of  our  great  poets,  an  ardent  recommender  of  temperance 
in  all  its  branches  ;  but  though  he  practised  what  he 
preached,  he  could  take  his  night  out  of  the  hands  of 
sleep  as  well  as  the  most  entrenching  of  us.  To  pass 
over,  as  foreign  to  our  subject  in  point  of  place,  his  noble 
wish  that  he  might  "oft  outwatch  the  bear,"  with  what  a 
wrapped-up  recollection  of  snugness,  in  the  elegy  on  his 
friend  Diodati,  does  he  describe  the  fireside  enjoyment  of 
\  winter's  night  ?  — 


A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE.  39 

"  Pectora  cui  credam  ?    Quis  me  lenire  docebit 
Mordaces  curas?     Quis  longam  fallere  noctem 
Dulcibus  alloquiis,  grato  cum  sibilat  igni 
Molle  pyrum,  et  nucibus  strepitat  focus,  et  malus  Auster 
Miscet  cuncta  foris,  et  desuper  intonat  ulmo? " 

"  In  whom  shall  I  confide  ?    Whose  counsel  find 
A  balmy  med'cine  for  my  troubled  mind? 
Or  whose  discourse,  with  innocent  delight, 
Shall  fill  me  now,  and  cheat  the  wintry  night, 
When  hisses  on  my  hearth  the  pulpy  pear, 
And  black'ning  chestnut  start  and  crackle  there, 
While  storms  abroad  the  dreary  meadows  whelm, 
And  the  wind  thunders  through  the  neighb'ring  elm." 

Cowper's  Translation. 

Even  when  left  alone,  there  is  sometimes  a  charm  in 
watching  out  the  decaying  fire,  —  in  getting  closer  and 
closer  to  it  with  tilted  chair  and  knees  against  the  bars, 
and  letting  the  whole  multitude  of  fancies,  that  work  in 
the  night  silence,  come  whispering  about  the  yielding  fac- 
ulties. The  world  around  is  silent ;  and  for  a  moment  the 
very  cares  of  day  seem  to  have  gone  with  it  to  sleep,  leav- 
ing you  to  catch  a  waking  sense  of  disenthralment,  and  to 
commune  with  a  thousand  airy  visitants  that  come  to  play 
with  innocent  thoughts.  Then,  for  imagination's  sake, 
not  for  superstition's,  are  recalled  the  stories  of  the  Secret 
World  and  the  midnight  pranks  of  Fairyism.  The  fancy 
roams  out  of  doors  after  rustics  led  astray  by  the  jack- 
o'-lantern,  or  minute  laughings  heard  upon  the  wind,  or 
the  night-spirit  on  his  horse  that  comes  flouncing  through 
the  air  on  his  way  to  a  surfeited  citizen,  or  the  tiny  morris- 
dance  that  springs  up  in  the  watery  glimpses  of  the  moon  ; 
or  keeping  at  home,  it  finds  a  spirit  in  every  room  peeping 
at  it  as  it  opens  the  door,  while  a  cry  is  heard  from  upstairs 
announcing  the  azure  marks  inflicted  by  — 

"  The  nips  of  fairies  upon  maids'  white  hips," 


40  A    DAY    BY    THE    FIRE. 

or  hearing  a  snoring  from  below,  it  tiptoes  down  into  the 
kitchen,  and  beholds  where  — 

"  Lies  him  down  the  lubber  fiend, 


And  stretch'd  out  all  the  chimney's  length, 
Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength." 

Presently  the  whole  band  of  fairies,  ancient  and  modern, 
—  the  demons,  sylphs,  gnomes,  sprites,  elves,  peries, 
genii,  and  above  all,  the  fairies  of  the  fireside,  the  sala- 
manders, lob-lie-by-the-fires,  lars,  lemures,  larvae,  come 
flitting  between  the  fancy's  eyes,  and  the  dying  coals, 
some  with  their  weapons  and  lights,  others  with  grave 
steadfastness  on  book  or  dish,  others  of  the  softer  kind 
with  their  arch  looks,  and  their  conscious  pretence  of  atti- 
tude, while  a  minute  music  tinkles  in  the  ear,  and  Oberon 
gives  his  gentle  order  :  — 

"  Through  this  house  in  glimmering  light 

By  the  dead  and  drowsy  fire, 
Every  elf  and  fairy  sprite 

Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  briar ; 
And  this  ditty,  after  me, 
Sing  and  dance  it  trippingly." 

Anon,  the  whole  is  vanished,  and  the  dreamer,  turning  his 
eye  down  aside,  almost  looks  for  a  laughing  sprite  gazing 
at  him  from  a  tiny  chair,  and  mimicking  his  face  and  atti- 
tude. Idle  fancies  these,  and  incomprehensible  to  minds 
clogged  with  every-day  earthliness  ;  but  not  useless,  either 
as  an  exercise  of  the  invention,  or  even  as  adding  con- 
sciousness to  the  range  and  destiny  of  the  soul.  They 
will  occupy  us  too,  and  steal  us  away  from  ourselves,  when 
other  recollections  fail  us  or  grow  painful,  when  friends 
are  found  selfish,  or  better  friends  can  but  commiserate, 
or  when  the  world  has  nothing  in  it  to  compare  with  what 
we  have  missed  out  of  it.     They  may  even  lead  us  to 


A   DAY   BY   THE    FIRE.  41 

higher  and  more  solemn  meditations,  till  we  work  up  our 
way  beyond  the  clinging  and  heavy  atmosphere  of  this 
earthly  sojourn,  and  look  abroad  upon  the  light  that  knows 
neither  blemish  nor  bound,  while  our  ears  are  saluted  at 
that  egress  by  the  harmony  of  the  skies,  and  our  eyes  be- 
hold the  lost  and  congenial  spirits  that  we  have  loved 
hastening  to  welcome  us  with  their  sparkling  eyes,  and 
their  curls  that  are  ripe  with  sunshine. 

But  earth  recalls  us  again ;  the  last  flame  is  out ;  the 
fading  embers  tinkle  with  a  gaping  dreariness ;  and  the 
chill  reminds  us  where  we  should  be.  Another  gaze  on 
the  hearth  that  has  so  cheered  us,  and  the  last,  lingering 
action  is  to  wind  up  the  watch  for  the  next  day.  Upon 
how  many  anxieties  shall  the  finger  of  that  brief  chron- 
icler strike,  —  and  upon  how  many  comforts  too !  To- 
morrow our  fire  shall  be  trimmed  anew ;  and  so,  gentle 
reader,  good  night :  may  the  weariness  I  have  caused  you 
make  sleep  the  pleasanter  ! 

"Let  no  lamenting  cryes,  nor  dolefull  tears, 
Be  heard  all  night  within,  nor  yet  without ; 
Ne  let  false  whispers,  breeding  hidden  fears, 
Break  gentle  sleep  with  misconceived  doubt. 
Let  no  deluding  dreams,  nor  dreadful  sights, 
Make  sudden,  sad  affrights, 

Ne  let  hobgoblins,  names  whose  sense  we  see  not, 
Fray  us  with  things  that  be  not ; 
But  let  still  silence  true  night-watches  keep, 
That  sacred  peace  may  in  assurance  reigne, 
And  timely  sleep,  since  it  is  time  to  sleep. 
May  pour  his  limbs  forth  on  your  pleasant  plaine." 

Spenser's  Epithalamion.* 


*  In  the  new  edition  of  "  The  Round  Table,"  published  in  the  Bayard 
Series  of  books,  this  article  is  given  to  Hazlitt.  "  Our  style  bewrays  us,"  says 
Burton ;  and  "  A  Day  by  the  Fire  "  is  full  of  Leigh  Hunt's  peculiarities  of 
thought  and  diction.     The  question  of  authorship,  however,  is  not  to  be  de- 


42  ON   COMMONPLACE    PEOPLE. 


ON   COMMONPLACE   PEOPLE. 

]GREEABLY  to  our  chivalrous,  as  well  as  do- 
mestic, character,  and  in  order  to  show  further 
in  what  sort  of  spirit  we  shall  hereafter  confer 
blame  and  praise,  whom  we  shall  cut  up  for 
the  benefit  of  humanity,  and  to  whom  apply 
our  healing  balsams,  we  have  thought  fit,  in  our  present 
number,  to  take  the  part  of  a  very  numerous  and  ill-treated 
body  of  persons,  known  by  the  various  appellations  of 
commonplace  people,  —  dull  fellows,  or  people  who  have 
nothing  to  say. 

It  is  perhaps  wrong,  indeed,  to  call  these  persons  com- 
monplace. Those  who  are  the  most  vehement  in  object- 
ing to  them  have  the  truest  right  to  the  title,  however 
little  they  may  suspect  it;  but  of  this  more  hereafter.  It 
is  a  name  by  which  the  others  are  very  commonly  known  ; 
though  they  might  rather  be  called  persons  of  simple 
common  sense,  and,  in  fact,  have  just  enough  of  that  val- 
uable quality  to  inspire  them  with  the  very  quietness  which 
brings  them  into  so  much  contempt. 

We  need  not,  however,  take  any  pains  to  describe  a  set 
of  people  so  well  known.  They  are,  of  course,  what  none 
of  our  readers  are,  but  many  are  acquainted  with.  They 
are  the  more  silent  part  of  companies,  and  generally  the 

cided  upon  internal  evidence  ;  facts  prove  that  the  essay  was  written  by  the 
author  of  the  "Story  of  Rimini."  The  prolusion  was  originally  published 
in  the  "  Reflector,"  with  Hunt's  well-known  signature,  —  IE^".  It  waa 
afterwards  re-printed  in  the  "  Examiner,"  as  one  of  "  The  Round  Table  " 
papers.  When  these  essays  were  collected  into  a  volume,  Leigh  Hunt's  ini- 
tials were  printed  at  the  end  of  "  A  Day  by  the  Fire ;  "  and  Hazlitt,  in  the 
preface  to  this  original  edition  of  "The  Round  Table,"  says,  "out  of  the 
fifty-two  numbers,  twelve  are  Mr.  Hunt's,  with  the  signature,  L.  H."  —  Ed. 


ON   COMMONPLACE    PEOPLE.  43 

best  behaved  people  at  table.  They  are  the  best  of  dumb 
waiters  near  the  lady  of  the  house.  They  are  always  at 
leisure  to  help  you  to  good  things,  if  not  to  say  them. 
They  will  supply  your  absence  of  mind  for  you  while  you 
are  talking,  and  believe  you  are  taking  sugar  for  pepper. 
Above  all,  —  which  ought  to  recommend  them  to  the  very 
hardest  of  their  antagonists,  —  they  are  uninquiring  laugh- 
ers at  jokes,  and  most  exemplary  listeners. 

Now,  we  do  not  say  that  these  are  the  very  best  of  com- 
panions, or  that  when  we  wished  to  be  particularly  amused 
or  informed  we  should  invite  them  to  our  houses,  or  go  to 
see  them  at  theirs  ;  all  we  demand  is  that  they  should  be 
kindly  and  respectfully  treated  when  they  are  by,  and  not 
insolently  left  out  of  the  pale  of  discourse,  purely  because 
they  may  not  bring  with  them  as  much  as  they  find,  or  say 
as  brilliant  things  as  we  imagine  we  do  ourselves. 

This  is  one  of  the  faults  of  over-civilization.  In  a  stage 
of  society  like  the  present,  there  is  an  intellectual  as  well 
as  personal  coxcombry  apt  to  prevail,  which  leads  people 
to  expect  from  each  other  a  certain  dashing  turn  of  mind, 
and  an  appearance,  at  least,  of  having  ideas,  whether  they 
can  afford  them  or  not  Their  minds  endeavor  to  put  on 
intelligent  attitudes,  just  as  their  bodies  do  graceful  ones  ; 
and  every  one  who,  from  conscious  modesty,  jar  from  not 
thinking  about  the  matter,  does  not  play  the  same  monkey 
tricks  with  his  natural  deficiency,  is  set  down  for  a  dull 
fellow,  and  treated  with  a  sort  of  scornful  resentment,  for 
differing  with  the  others.  It  is  equally  painful  and  amus- 
ing to  see  how  the  latter  will  look  upon  an  honest  fellow 
of  this  description,  if  they  happen  to  find  him  in  a  com- 
pany where  they  think  he  has  no  business.  On  the  first 
entrance  of  one  of  these  intolerant  men  of  wisdom,  —  to 
see,  of  course,  a  brilliant  friend  of  his,  —  he  concludes 


44  ON    COMMONPLACE    PEOPLE. 

that  all  the  party  are  equally  lustrous ;  but  finding,  by  de- 
grees, no  flashes  from  an  unfortunate  gentleman  on  his 
right,  he  turns  stiffly  towards  him  at  the  first  commonplace 
remark,  measures  him  from  head  to  foot  with  a  kind  of 
wondering  indifference,  and  then  falls  to  stirring  his  tea 
with  a  half-inquiring  glance  at  the  rest  of  the  company,  — 
just  as  much  as  to  say,  "a  fellow  not  overburdened, 
eh  ? "  or,  "  who  the  devil  has  Tom  got  here  ?  " 

Like  all  who  are  tyrannically  given,  and  of  a  bullying 
turn  of  mind,  —  which  is  by  no  means  confined  to  those 
who  talk  loudest,  —  thes.e  persons  are  apt  to  be  as  obse- 
quious and  dumb-stricken  before  men  of  whom  they  have 
a  lofty  opinion  as  they  are  otherwise  in  the  case  above 
mentioned.  This,  indeed,  is  not  always  the  case ;  but  you 
may  sometimes  find  out  one  of  the  caste  by  seeing  him 
waiting  with  open  mouth  and  impatient  eyes  for  the  brill- 
iant things  which  the  great  gentleman  to  whom  he  has 
been  introduced  is  bound  to  utter.  The  party,  perhaps, 
are  waiting  for  dinner,  and  as  silent  as  most  Englishmen, 
not  very  well  known  to  each  other,  are  upon  such  occa- 
sions. Our  hero  waits  with  impatience  to  hear  the  cele- 
brated person  open  his  mouth,  and  is  at  length  gratified  ; 
but  not  hearing  very  distinctly,  asks  his  next  neighbor,  in 
a  serious  and  earnest  whisper,  what  it  was. 

"  Pray,  sir,  what  was  it  that  Mr.  W.  said  ?  " 

"He  says  that  it  is  particularly  cold." 

"  Oh,  —  particularly  cold." 

The  gentleman  thinks  this  no  very  profound  remark  for 
so  great  a  man,  but  puts  on  as  patient  a  face  as  he  can, 
and,  refreshing  himself  with  shifting  one  knee  over  the 
other,  waits  anxiously  for  the  next  observation.  After  a 
little  silence,  broken  only  by  a  hem  or  two,  and  by  some- 
body's begging  pardon  of  a  gentleman  next  him  for  touch- 


ON   COMMONPLACE    PEOPLE.  45 

ing  his  shoe,  Mr.  W.  is  addressed  by  a  friend,  and  the 
stranger  is  all  attention. 

"By  the  bye,  W.,  how  did  you  get  home  last  night  ?" 

"  Oh,  very  well,  thank'ye ;  I  couldn't  get  a  coach,  but 
it  was'nt  very  rainy,  and  I  was  soon  there,  and  jumped 
into  bed." 

"Ah,  there's  nothing  like  bed  after  getting  one's  coat 
wet." 

"  Nothing,  indeed.  I  had  the  clothes  round  me  in  a 
twinkling,  and  in  two  minutes  was  as  fast  as  a  church." 

Here  the  conversation  drops  again  ;  and  our  delighter 
in  intellect  cannot  hide  from  himself  his  disappointment. 
The  description  of  pulling  the  clothes  round,  he  thinks, 
might  have  been  much  more  piquant ;  and  the  simile,  as 
fast  as  a  church,  appears  to  him  wonderfully  commonplace 
from  a  man  of  wit.  But  such  is  his  misfortune.  He  has 
no  eyes  but  for  something  sparkling  or  violent ;  and  no 
more  expects  to  find  any  thing  simple  in  genius,  than  any 
thing  tolerable  in  the  want  of  it. 

Persons  impatient  of  others'  deficiencies  are,  in  fact, 
likely  to  be  equally  undiscerning  of  their  merits  ;  and  are 
not  aware,  in  either  case,  how  much  they  are  exposing  the 
deficiencies  on  their  own  side.  Not  only,  however,  do 
they  get  into  this  dilemma,  but  what  is  more,  they  are 
lowering  their  respectability  beneath  that  of  the  dullest 
person  in  the  room.  They  show  themselves  deficient,  not 
merely  in  the  qualities  they  miss  in  him,  but  in  those  which 
he  really  possesses,  such  as  self-knowledge  and  good  tem- 
per. Were  they  as  wise  as  they  pretend  to  be,  they  would 
equal  him  in  these  points,  and  know  how  to  extract  some- 
thing good  from  him  in  spite  of  his  deficiency  in  the  other ; 
for  intellectual  qualities  are  not  the  only  ones  that  excite 
the  reflections,  or  conciliate  the  regard,  of  the  truly  intel- 


46  ON   COMMONPLACE    PEOPLE. 

ligent,  —  of  those  who  can  study  human  nature  in  all  its 
bearings,  and  love  it,  or  sympathize  with  it,  for  all  its  affec- 
tions. The  best  part  of  pleasure  is  the  communication  of 
it.  Why  must  we  be  perpetually  craving  for  amusement 
or  information  from  others  (an  appetite  which,  after  all, 
will  be  seldom  acknowledged),  and  never  think  of  bestow- 
ing them  ourselves  ?  Again,  as  the  best  part  of  pleasure 
is  that  we  have  just  mentioned,  the  best  proof  of  intel- 
lectual power  is  that  of  extracting  fertility  from  barrenness, 
or  so  managing  the  least  cultivated  mind,  which  we  may 
happen  to  stumble  upon,  as  to  win  something  from  it. 
Setting  even  this  talent  aside,  there  are  occasions  when  it  is 
refreshing  to  escape  from  the  turmoil  and  final  nothingness 
of  the  understanding,  and  repose  upon  that  contentedness 
of  mediocrity  which  seems  to  have  attained  its  end  with- 
out the  trouble  of  wisdom.  It  has  often  delighted  me  to 
observe  a  profound  thinker  of  my  acquaintance,  when  a 
good  natured  person  of  ordinary  understanding  has  been 
present.  He  is  reckoned  severe,  as  it  is  called,  in  many 
of  his  opinions  :  and  is  thought  particularly  to  overrate 
his  intellectual  qualities  in  general ;  and  yet  it  is  beautiful 
to  see  how  he  will  let  down  his  mind  to  the  other's  level, 
taking  pleasure  in  his  harmless  enjoyment,  and  assenting 
to  a  thousand  truisms,  one  after  another,  as  familiar  to  him 
as  his  finger-ends.  The  reason  is  that  he  pierces  deeper 
into  the  nature  of  the  human  being  beside  him,  can  make 
his  very  deficiencies  subservient  to  his  own  speculations, 
and,  above  all,  knows  that  there  is  something  worth  all  the 
knowledge  upon  earth,  —  which  is  happiness  and  a  genial 
nature.  It  is  thus  that  the  sunshine  of  happy  faces  is  re- 
flected upon  our  own.  We  may  even  find  a  beam  of  it  in 
every  thing  that  Heaven  looks  upon.  The  dullest  minds  do 
not  vegetate  for  nothing,  any  more  than  the  grass  in  a 


HEATHEN   MYTHOLOGY.  47 

green  lawn.  We  do  not  require  the  trees  to  talk  with  us, 
or  get  impatient  at  the  monotonous  quiet  of  the  fields  and 
hedges.  We  love  them  for  their  contrast  to  noise  and 
bustle,  for  their  presenting  to  us  something  native  and 
elementary,  for  the  peaceful  thoughts  they  suggest  to  us, 
and  the  part  they  bear  in  the  various  beauty  of  creation. 

Is  a  bird's  feather  exhibited  in  company,  or  a  piece  of 
sea-weed,  or  a  shell  that  contained  the  stupidest  of  created 
beings,  every  one  is  happy  to  look  at  it,  and  the  most  fas- 
tidious pretender  in  the  room  will  delight  to  expatiate  on 
its  beauty  and  contrivance.  Let  this  teach  him  charity 
and  good  sense,  and  inform  him  that  it  is  the  grossest  of 
all  coxcombry  to  dwell  with  admiration  on  a  piece  of  in- 
sensibility, however  beautiful,  and  find  nothing  to  excite 
pleasing  or  profitable  reflections  in  the  commonest  of  his 
fellow-men. 


A    POPULAR  VIEW   OF    THE    HEATHEN    MY- 
THOLOGY. 

HE  divinities  of  the  ancient  mythology  are  of  a 
very  tangible  order.  They  were  personifica- 
tions of  the  power  of  the  external  world,  and 
of  the  operations  of  the  intellect ;  and  some- 
times merged  themselves  into  the  particular 
providence  of  an  eminent  prince  or  reformer.  Mankind 
wishing  to  have  distinct  ideas  of  the  unknown  powers  of 
the  universe,  naturally  painted  them  at  first  in  their  own 
shapes  ;  and  not  being  able  to  conceive  of  them  otherwise 
than  by  the  light  of  their  understanding,  they  as  naturally 
gifted  them  with  their  own  faculties,  moral  and  intellect- 


48  HEATHEN   MYTHOLOGY. 

ual.  Hence,  the  heathen  gods  were  reflections  of  the 
qualities  most  admired  or  feared  during  the  times  m  which 
they  originated ;  and  to  the  same  cause  were  owing  the 
inconsistencies  and  the  vices  palmed  upon  them  by  the 
stories  of  different  ages  and  nations,  whose  gods  became 
lumped  together  ;  and  hence  the  trouble  that  the  philoso- 
pher had  in  endeavoring  to  reconcile  the  popular  super- 
stitions with  a  theology  more  becoming.*  Plutarch,  who 
was  a  priest  at  Delphi,  and  a  regular  devout  pagan,  but 
good-hearted  and  imbued  with  philosophy,  is  shocked  at 
the  popular  stories  of  the  rapes  and  quarrels  of  the  gods  ; 
and  Plato,  on  a  similar  account,  was  for  banishing  Homer 
from  his  republic.  Plutarch  will  not  allow  that  it  was  the 
real  Apollo  who  fought  a  serpent  and  afterwards  had  to 
purify  himself.  He  said  it  must  have  been  a  likeness  of 
him,  a  demon.  In  other  words  the  gods  of  Plutarch 
were  to  resemble  the  highest  ideas  which  Plutarch  could 
form  of  dignity  and  power.  Hence,  the  greater  philoso- 
phers whose  ardor  in  the  pursuit  of  truth  rendered  them 
still  more  desirous  of  departing  from  conventional  degra- 
dations of  it,  came  to  agree  that  the  nature  of  the  deity 
was  inconceivable  ;  and  that  the  most  exalted  being  they 


*  Virtue  or  vice  either  if  accompanied  with  power,  will  do  to  make  a  god  of 
in  barbarous  times,  and  till  mankind  learn  the  perniciousness  of  that  sort  of 
apotheosis.  An  Eastern  writer  says  that  Pharaoh  wished  to  pass  for  a  divinity 
with  his  subjects,  and  had  frequent  conversation  with  the  devil  for  that  pur- 
pose. The  devil  put  him  off  from  time  to  time,  till  he  told  him  one  day  that 
the  hour  was  arrived.  "  How  is  that,"  cried  Pharaoh,  —  "why  is  it  time  now, 
and  was  not  before?"  —  "The  reason  is,"  replied  the  devil,  "that  you  have 
not  hitherto  been  quite  bad  enough  :  at  length  you  have  become  intolerable, 
and  there  is  no  alternative  between  a  revolt  of  your  subjects,  and  their  belief 
in  your  being  a  god.  Once  persuade  them  of  that,  and  there  is  nothing  so  ex- 
travagant, either  in  word  or  deed,  which  they  will  not  take  from  you  with  re- 
spect."     D^Herbelot,  article  Feraoun. 


HEATHEN   MYTHOLOGY.  49 

could  fancy  was  at  an  incalculable  distance  from  it, — an 
emanation,  a  being  deputed,  a  sort  of  spiritual  incarnation 
of  one  of  the  divine  thoughts  ;  —  if  we  may  so  speak  with- 
out absurdity  and  without  blame.  Plato,  for  instance, 
observing  the  moral  imperfections  of  our  planet,  and  not 
knowing  how  to  account  for  them  any  more  than  we  do 
(for  the  first  cause  of  evil  is  always  left  in  the  dark),  imag- 
ined that  this  world  was  created  by  what  he  called  a  Dem- 
iurgus,  or  inferior  divine  energy ;  just  as  an  artist  less  than 
Raphael  might  paint  a  fine  picture  though  not  so  good  as 
what  might  have  come  from  the  hands  of  the  greater  one. 
If  you  asked  him  how  he  made  out  that  the  chief  creator 
did  not  do  the  work  himself,  he  would  have  referred  you 
to  the  fact  of  the  imperfection  and  to  the  existence  of  dif- 
ferent degrees  of  skill  and  beauty  in  which  we  see  all 
about  us  ;  for  he  thought  he  had  a  right  to  argue  from 
analogy,  in  default  of  more  certain  principles.  This  right 
he  undoubtedly  possessed,  and  it  was  natural  and  reasona- 
ble to  exert  it ;  but  considering  the  imperfection  of  the 
human  faculties  and  the  false  reports  they  make  to  us, 
even  of  things  cognizable  to  the  senses,  it  is,  in  truth,  im- 
possible to  argue  with  any  certainty  from  things  human  to 
things  divine.  The  only  service  to  all  appearance,  which 
our  faculties  can  do  for  us  in  these  questions,  is  to  save  us 
from  the  admission  of  gratuitous  absurdities  and  dogmas 
dishonorable  to  the  idea  of  a  Divine  Being,  and  to  en- 
courage us  to  guess  handsomely  and  to  good  purpose. 
For  sincerity  at  all  events  must  not  be  gainsaid ;  other- 
wise belief  and  probability  and  principle  and  natural  love 
and  the  earth  itself  slide  from  under  our  feet.  The  mys- 
tery of  the  permission  of  evil  still  remained ;  the  mystery 
of  imperfection  and  of  cause  itself  was  only  thrown  back ; 
and  in  fact  the  invention  of  the  Demiurgus  was  merely 
4 


50  HEATHEN    MYTHOLOGY. 

shifting  the  whole  mystery  of  Deity  from  a  first  cause  to  a 
second.  The  old  dilemma  between  omnipotence  and  om- 
nibenevolence  perplexed  the  understanding  then,  as  it 
does  now ;  and  as  this  world  was  made  the  reflection  of 
every  other,  or  rather  as  evil  was  supposed  to  render  all 
the  operations  of  the  Deity  imperfect,  except  immediately 
in  his  own  sphere  ;  men  seem  to  have  overlooked  among 
other  guesses,  the  probability  that  evil  may  exist  only  in 
petty  corners  or  minute  portions  of  the  universe,  and  even 
then  be  only  the  result  of  an  experiment  with  certain  ele- 
mentary compounds  to  see  whether  they  cannot  be  made 
planets  of  perfect  happiness  as  well  as  the  rest.  For,  after 
all,  Plato's  assumption  of  the  innate  and  unconscious  diffi- 
culty which  matter  presents  in  the  working  (or  an  inability 
of  some  sort,  whatever  it  be,  to  render  things  perfect  at 
once),  is  surely  the  best  assumption  among  the  hundreds 
that  have  been  taken  for  granted  on  this  point ;  seeing 
that  it  sets  aside  malignity,  encourages  hope,  and  stimu- 
lates us  to  an  active  and  benign  state  of  endeavor  such  as 
we  may  conceive  to  enlist  us  in  the  divine  service.  We 
must  never  take  any  thing  on  trust  in  order  to  make  a 
handle  of  it  for  dictation  or  hypocrisy,  or  a  selfish  security, 
or  an  indolence  which  we  may  dignify  with  the  title  of  res- 
ignation ;  but  as  we  are  compelled  to  assume  or  conjec- 
ture something  or  other,  unless  indeed  we  are  deficient  in 
the  imaginative  part  of  our  nature,  it  is  best  to  assume  the 
best  candidly,  and  acknowledge  it  to  be  an  assumption  in 
order  that  we  may  do  the  utmost  we  can.  Happy  opinions 
are  the  wine  of  the  heart.  What  if  this  world  be  an  ex- 
periment, part  of  which  consists  in  our  own  co-operation, 
that  is  to  say,  in  trying  how  far  the  inhabitants  of  it  can 
acquire  energy  enough,  and  do  credit  enough,  to  the  first 
cause,  to  add  it  finally  to  the  number  of  blessed  stars  ? 


HEATHEN    MYTHOLOGY.  5 1 

and  what  if  more  direct  communication  with  us  on  the 
part  of  the  operator,  would  of  necessity  put  an  end  to  the 
experiment?  The  petty  human  considerations  of  pride 
and  modesty  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  cordial  magni- 
tude of  such  guesses  ;  and  the  beauty  8f  them  consists, 
we  think,  not  merely  in  their  cheerfulness  and  real  piety, 
but  in  their  adaptation  to  all  experimental  systems  of  util- 
ity, those  of  the  most  exclusive  utilitarians  not  excepted. 
Such  we  confess  is  our  own  creed,  which  we  boast  at  the 
same  time  to  be  emphatically  Christian  ;  and  the  good 
which  our  enthusiasm  cannot  help  thinking  such  an  opin- 
ion might  do,  will  excuse  us  with  the  readers  for  this  di- 
gression.* 

The  gods  of  Greece,  taken  in  the  popular  view  of  them, 
were,  upon  the  whole  a  jovial  company,  occasionally  dis- 
persed about  the  world,  and  assembling  on  Mount  Olym- 


*  The  hope  of  a  happier  state  of  things  on  earth,  argues  nothing  against  a 
life  hereafter.  The  fitness  of  a  human  soul  for  immortality  may  be  a  part  of 
the  experiment.  The  divinest  preacher  of  eternity  that  has  appeared,  ex- 
pressly anticipated  a  happier  period  for  mankind  in  their  human  state,  though 
many  who  are  called  his  followers  are  eager  to  load  both  themselves  and  the 
world  they  live  in  with  contumely,  —  themselves  as  "innately  vicious,"  and 
the  world  as  "  a  vale  of  tears."  Such  are  the  compliments  they  think  to 
pay  their  Creator !  Yet  these  are  the  persons  who  talk  with  the  greatest  devo- 
tion of  resigning  themselves  to  God's  will,  and  who  pique  themselves  upon  hav- 
ing the  most  exalted  ideas  of  his  nature !  How  much  better  to  think  it  his 
will  that  they  should  bestir  themselves  to  improve  their  own  natures  and  the 
world !  How  much  better  to  think  it  consonant  with  his  nature  that  they 
should  help  to  drain  the  "vale  of  tears,"  as  they  call  it,  just  as  they  would  any 
other  valley,  beauteous  and  full  of  resources  !  They  do  not  think  it  necessary 
to  be  resigned  when  they  can  work  for  themselves;  why  should  they  when 
they  can  work  for  others  ?  Resignation  is  always  good,  provided  it  means  only 
patience  in  the  midst  of  endeavor,  or  repose  after  it ;  but  when  it  implies  a 
mere  folding  of  the  hands,  and  a  despair  of  making  any  thing  good  out  of 
"God's  own  work,"  it  is  surely  the  lowest  and  most  equivocal  aspect  under 
which  piety  could  wish  to  be  drawn. 


52  HEATHEN    MYTHOLOGY. 

pus.  They  dined  and  supped  there,  and  made  love  like  a 
party  of  gallants  at  a  king's  table.  A  pretty  girl  served 
instead  of  a  butler ;  and  the  Muse  played  the  part  of  a 
band.*  When  they  came  down  to  earth,  they  behaved 
like  the  party  going  home ;  made  love  again  after  their 
fashion ;  interfered  in  quarrels,  frightened  the  old  and  the 
feeble  ;  and  next  day  joined  a  campaign,  or  presided  at  an 
orthodox  meeting.  In  short,  they  did  whatever  the  vulgar 
thought  gallant  and  heroical,  and  were  particularly  famous 
for  having  their  own  way.  If  a  god  offended  against  all 
humanity,  he  had  his  reasons  for  it,  and  was  a  privileged 
person.  He  could  do  no  wrong.  But  if  humanity  went 
counter  to  a  god,  the  offender  and  all  his  generation  were 
to  suffer  for  it.  A  lady  who  had  resisted  the  violence  of 
his  virtue,  was  not  to  be  believed  whenever  she  spoke  the 
truth  ;  or  your  brother  became  an  owl  or  a  flint-stone  ;  or 
your  son  was  to  become  a  criminal,  or  a  madman,  because 
his  grandfather  unwittingly  married  against  the  god's  con- 
sent. The  vulgar  thought  how  wilful  and  unjust  they 
would  be  themselves  if  they  had  power ;  they  saw  how 
much  kings  were  given  to  those  kinds  of  peccadilloes  ;  and 
therefore,  if  they  could  have  become  gods,  how  much 
more  they  would  have  been  ungodly  !  It  is  true  the  phi- 
losopher refined  upon  all  this  :  and  agreeably  to  the  way 
in  which  Nature  works,  there  was  a  sort  of  cultivation  of 
energy  underneath  it  and  an  instinct  of  something  beyond 


*  See  the  description  in  books  and  prints,  the  marriage  of  Cupid  and  Psyche. 
Raphael  made  a  picture  of  it.  Augustus  is  charged  with  having  made  an  im- 
pious entertainment  in  imitation  of  these  "  charming  noons  and  nights  divine." 
Ben  Jonson,  we  suppose  in  consideration  of  King  James,  who  besides  being  a 
classical  monarch,  was  devout  as  well  as  debauched,  —  has  taken  the  liberty  of 
misrepresenting  the  charge  in  his  Poetaster,  and  making  Augustus  astonished 
at  the  impiety  in  others. 


HEATHEN   MYTHOLOGY.  53 

the  common  theories  of  right  and  wrong.  Nature's  char- 
acter remained  safe,  and  her  good  work  proceeded.  The 
divinity  within  us  was  superior  to  the  ideas  of  him  which 
we  threw  up. 

Homer  makes  the  gods  of  a  mighty  size.  His  Neptune 
goes  a  hundred  miles  at  a  stride.  This  grandeur  is  of  a 
questionable  sort.  Homer's  men  become  little  in  propor- 
tion as  the  gods  become  great ;  and  Mars  and  Minerva 
lording  it  over  a  battle,  are  like  giants  "  tempesting " 
among  a  parcel  of  mice.  The  less  they  were  seen,  the 
less  the  dignity  on  either  side  was  compromised  ;  for  their 
effect  might  be  as  gigantic  as  possible. 

The  truest  grandeur  is  moral.  When  there  is  a  heaven- 
quake  because  Jupiter  has  bent  his  brows  ;  —  when  Apollo 
comes  down  in  his  wrath  "  like  night-time,"  and  a  plague 
falls  upon  the  people ;  when  a  fated  man  in  a  tragedy  is 
described  sleeping  at  the  foot  of  an  altar  with  three  tre- 
mendous looking  women  (the  furies)  keeping  an  eye  upon 
him ;  —  when  a  doomed  old  man  in  a  grove  is  called  away 
by  a  voice,  —  after  which  he  is  never  more  seen  ;  or  to 
turn  the  brighter  side  of  power,  when  Bacchus  leaps  out 
of  his  chariot  in  Titian's  picture,  looking  (to  our  mortal 
eyes)  with  the  fierce  gravity  of  a  wine-god's-energy, 
though  he  comes  to  comfort  a  mourner ;  or  to  sum  up 
all  that  is  sweet  as  well  as  powerful,  when  Juno  goes  to 
Venus  to  borrow  her  girdle,  in  order  that  she  may  appear 
irresistible  in  the  eyes  of  Jupiter  ;  it  is  then  we  feel  all 
the  force  and  beauty  of  the  Greek  fables  ;  and  an  inti- 
macy with  their  sculpture  shows  us  the  eternal  youth  of 
this  beauty,  and  renders  it  a  sort  of  personal  acquaint- 
ance. 

Milton  wrote  some  fine  verses  on  the  cessation  of  hea- 
then oracles,  in  which  while  he  thinks  he  is  triumphing 


54  HEATHEN    MYTHOLOGY. 

over  the  dissolution  of  the  gods  like  a  proper  Christian, 
he  is  evidently  regretting  and  lingering  over  them,  as  was 
natural  to  a  poet.  He  need  not  have  lamented.  A  proper 
sense  of  universality  knows  how  to  reconcile  the  real 
beauty  of  all  creeds  ;  and  the  gods  survive  in  the  midst  of 
his  own  epic,  lifted  by  his  own  hand  above  the  degrada- 
tion to  which  he  has  thrust  them.  Vulcan,  he  says,  was 
called  Mammon  in  heaven,  and  was  a  fallen  angel.  But 
he  has  another  name  for  him  better  than  either.  Hear 
how  he  rolls  the  harmony  of  his  vowels. 

Nor  was  his  name  unheard,  or  unador'd 
In  ancient  Greece  ;  and  in  Ausonian  land 
Men  call'd  him  Mulciber ;  and  how  he  fell 
From  heav'n,  they  fabled,  thrown  by  angry  Jove 
Sheer  o'er  the  crystal  battlements.    From  morn 
To  noon  he  fell ;  —  from  noon  to  dewy  eve,  — 
A  summer's  day ;  and  with  the  setting  sun 
Dropt  from  the  zenith  like  a  falling  star 
On  Lemnos  th'  JEgean  Isle.     Thus  they  relate, 
Erring. 

Par.  Lost,  Book  I. 

"  Not  more  than  you  did,"  Homer  might  have  said  to 
him  in  Elysium,  "  when  you  called  my  divine  architect  a 
sordid  archangel  fond  of  gold,  and  made  him  fall  from  a 
state  of  perfect  holiness  and  bliss,  which  was  impossible." 

"  Brother,  brother,"  Milton  might  have  said,  glancing 
at  the  author  of  the  "  Beggar's  Opera,"  "we  were  both  in 
the  wrong  ;  —  except  when  you  were  painting  Helen  and 
Andromache,  or  sending  your  verses  forward  like  a  de- 
vouring fire." 

"  Or  you,"  would  the  heroic  ancient  rejoin,  "  when  you 
made  us  acquainted  with  the  dignity  of  those  two  gentle 
creatures  in  Paradise,  and  wrote  verses  full  of  tranquil 
superiority,  which  make  mine  appear  to  me  like  the  talk- 
ing of  Mars  compared  with  that  of  Jupiter." 


HEATHEN    MYTHOLOGY.  55 

No  heathen  paradise,  according  to  Milton,  could  com- 
pare with  his  ;  yet  in  saying  so,  he  lingers  so  fondly 
among  the  illegal  shades  that  it  is  doubtful  which  he  pre- 
fers. 

Not  that  fair  field 
Of  Enna,  where  Proserpine,  tethering  flowers, 
Herself  a  fairer  flow'r  by  gloomy  Dis 
Was  gather'd ;  which  cost  Ceres  all  that  pain 
To  seek  her  through  the  world ;  nor  that  sweet  grove 
Of  Daphne,  by  Orontes,  and  the  inspir'd 
Castalian  spring,  might  with  this  Paradise 
Of  Eden  strive  ;  nor  that  Nyseian  isle 
Girt  with  the  river  Triton,  where  old  Cham. 
Whom  gentiles  Ammon  call  and  Lybian  Jove, 
Hid  Amalthea,  and  her  florid  son, 
Young  Bacchus,  from  his  step-dame  Rhea's  eye. 

Milton-  had,  in  fact,  settled  this  question  of  the  inde- 
structibility of  paganism  in  his  youth.  His  college  exer- 
cises showing  that  "  nature  could  not  grow  old,"  showed 
also  that  the  gods  and  goddesses  must  remain  with  her. 
The  style  of  Milton's  Latin  verses  is  founded  on  Ovid ; 
but  his  love  of  a  conscious  and  sonorous  music  renders  it 
his  own,  and  perhaps  there  is  nothing  more  like  the  elder 
English  Milton  than  these  young  exercises  of  his  in  a 
classical  language. 

Dr.  Johnson  objects  to  Milton's  Lycidas  (which  is  an 
elegy  on  a  lost  companion  of  his  studies),  that  "  passion 
plucks  no  berries  from  the  myrtle  and  ivy  ;  nor  calls  upon 
Arethuse  and  Mincius  ;  nor  tells  of  rough  Satyrs  and 
Faiuis  with  cloven  heel."  To  which  Wharton  very  prop- 
erly answers,  "  but  poetry  does  this :  and  in  the  hands  of 
Milton  does  it  with  a  peculiar  and  irresistible  charm.  Sub- 
ordinate poets  exercise  no  invention  when  they  tell  how  a 
shepherd  has  lost  a  companion,  and  must  feed  his  flocks 
alone,  without  any  judge  of  his  skill  in  piping;  but  Milton 


56  HEATHEN   MYTHOLOGY. 

dignifies  and  adorns  these  common  artificial  incidents  with 
unexpected  touches  of  picturesque  beauty,  with  the  graces 
of  sentiment  and  with  the  novelties  of  original  genius." 
Wharton  says  further,  that  "poetry  is  not  always  uncon- 
nected with  passion,"  and  then  gives  an  instance  out  of 
the  poem  where  Milton  speaks  of  the  body  of  his  lost 
friend.  But  he  might  have  added  that  poetry  itself  is  a 
passion;  that  Fleet  Street  and  "the  Mitre,"  though  very 
good  things,  are  not  the  only  ones  ;  that  these  two  young 
friends  lived  in  the  imaginative,  as  well  as  the  every-day 
world  ;  that  the  survivor  most  probably  missed  the  com- 
panion of  his  studies  more  on  the  banks  of  the  Arethuse 
and  the  Mincius,  than  he  did  in  the  college  grounds ;  in 
short,  that  there  is  a  state  of  poetical  belief,  in  which  the 
images  of  truth  and  beauty  which  are  by  their  nature 
lasting,  become  visible  and  affecting  to  the  mind  in  pro- 
portion to  the  truth  and  beauty  of  its  own  tact  for  univer- 
sality. Bacon,  though  no  poet,  had  it,  and  adorned  his 
house  with  pagan  sculptures ;  because,  being  a  universal 
philosopher,  he  included  a  knowledge  of  what  was  poetical. 
All  the  poets  have  had  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  more  or 
less  ;  but  the  greatest  most  of  all.  Shakespeare  included 
it  for  the  very  reason  that  he  left  no  part  of  the  world  un- 
sympathized  with ;  namely,  that  he  was,  of  all  poets,  the 
most  universal. 

Hyperion's  curls;  the  front  of  Jove  himself; 
An  eye  like  Mars  to  threaten  and  command ; 
A  station  like  the  herald  Mercury, 
New-lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill. 

These  Miltonic  lines  flowed  from  the  same  pen  that 
recorded  the  vagaries  of  Falstaff  and  Mrs.  Quickly.  Dr. 
Johnson  would  have  made  a  bad  business  of  the  heathen 
mythology.     He  did  so  when  he  made  a  Turk  pull  his 


HEATHEN    MYTHOLOGY.  57 

enemy  out  of  the  "  Pleiad's  golden  chariot."*  He  was 
conversant  only  with  what  is  called  real  life  ;  wonderfully 
well  indeed,  and  with  great  wit  and  good  sense  ;  but  there 
he  stopped.  He  might  have  as  soon  undertaken  to  de- 
scribe a  real  piece  of  old  poetical  beauty,  or  passion  either, 
as  clap  his  wig  on  the  head  of  Apollo.  He  laughed  with 
reason  at  Prior,  for  comparing  his  Chloes  to  Venus  and 
Diana,  and  talking  of  their  going  out  a  hunting  with  ivory 
quivers  graceful  at  their  side.  This  was  the  French  no- 
tion of  using  the  Greek  fables  ;  and  with  the  French,  in- 
deed, the  heathen  mythology  became  the  most  spurious 
and  the  most  faded  of  drugs.  They  might  as  well  have 
called  a  box  of  millinery  the  oracle  of  Delphi.  The  Ger- 
mans understood  it  better,  but  we  do  not  think  it  has 
ever  been  revived  to  more  beautiful  account  than  in  the 
young  poetry  and  remote  haunts  of  imagination  of  the  late 
Mr.  Keats.  He  lamented  that  he  could  not  do  it  justice. 
"  Oh,  how  unlike,"  he  cries,  speaking  of  the  style  of  his 
fine  poem,  Hyperion, 

To  that  large  utterance  of  the  early  gods ! 

But  this  was  the  modesty  of  a  real  poet.  Milton  him- 
self would  have  been  happy  to  read  his  Hyperion  aloud, 
and  to  have  welcomed  the  new  spirit  among  the  choir  of 
poets,  with  its 

Elysian  beauty,  melancholy  grace. 

Mr.  Shelley  beautifully  applied  to  his  young  friend  the 
distich  of  Plato  upon  Agathon,  who  having  been,  he  says, 
a  morning  star  among  the  living,  was  now  an  evening 

*  In  his  tragedy  of  Irene.  Gibbon  has  noticed  it  somewhere  in  the  Decline 
and  Fall. 


58  HEATHEN    MYTHOLOGY. 

star  in  the  shades.  Here,  also,  was  the  true  taste  of  the 
antique.  Nay,  it  is  possible  that  the  melancholy  of  mod- 
ern genius  to  the  eyes  of  which  a  larger  and  obscurer 
world  has  been  thrown  open,  may  have  discovered  a  more 
imaginative  character  in  the  mythology  of  the  ancient 
poets,  than  accompanies  our  usual  notion  of  it.  The 
cheerfulness  of  all  those  poets,  except  the  dramatic  ones, 
and  the  everlasting  and  visible  youth  of  their  sculptures, 
come  before  us,  and  make  us  think  of  nothing  but  Pan 
and  Pomona,  of  Bacchus,  Apollo,  and  the  Graces.  Nor  is 
it  possible  to  deny  that  this  is  the  general  and  perhaps  the 
just  impression,  though  exaggerated  ;  and  that  the  Pyth- 
ian organ,  with  all  its  grandeur,  does  not  roll  such  peals 

Of  pomp  and  threatening  harmony 

as  those  of  the  old  Gregorian  chapels,  and  the  mingling 
hierarchies  of  earth  and  heaven.*  Unfortunately  the 
grandest  parts  of  all  religions  have  hitherto  appealed  to 
the  least  respectable  of  our  passions,  —  our  fear.  It  is  the 
beauty  of  the  truly  divine  part  of  Christianity  that  it  ap- 
peals to  love ;  and  if  it  then  inspires  melancholy,  it  is  one 
of  a  nobler  sort,  animating  us  to  endeavor  and  promising 
a  state  of  things,  to  which  the  grandeur  both  of  Paganism 
and  Catholicism  may  become  as  the  dreams  of  remem- 
bered sickness  in  infancy. 

At  all  events,  it  is  certain  that  some  of  the  great  modern 
poets  in  consequence  of  their  remoteness  from  the  age  of 
pagan  belief,  and  its  every-day  effect  on  the  mind,  often 


*  On  the  Feast  of  St.  Michael  and  All  Saints,  the  Catholic  Church  believes 
that  the  whole  of  the  faithful  on  earth  and  in  heaven,  with  all  the  angelical 
hierarchies,  are  lifting  up  their  voices  in  unison  !  one  of  the  sublimest  and  most 
beautiful  fancies  that  ever  entered  into  the  heart  of  man. 


GENII   OF   THE    GREEKS   AND   ROMANS.  59 

write  in  a  nobler  manner  upon  the  gods  of  antiquity  than 
the  ancients  themselves.  He  that  would  run  the  whole 
round  of  the  spirit  of  heathenism  to  perfection,  must  be- 
come intimate  with  the  poetry  of  Milton  and  Spenser  ;  of 
Ovid,  Homer,  Theocritus,  and  the  Greek  tragedians ; 
with  the  novels  of  Wieland,  the  sculptures  of  Phidias  and 
others,  and  the  pictures  of  Raphael,  and  the  Caraccis,  and 
Nicholas  Poussin.  But  a  single  page  of  Spenser  or  one 
morning  at  the  Anger  stein  Gallery,  will  make  him  better 
acquainted  with  it  than  a  dozen  such  folios  as  Spence's 
Polymetis,  or  all  the  mythologists  and  book-poets  who 
have  attempted  to  draw  Greek  inspiration  from  a  Latin 
fount. 


ON  THE  GENII  OF  THE  GREEKS  AND  RO- 
MANS, AND  THE  SPIRIT  THAT  WAS  SAID 
TO    HAVE   WAITED    ON    SOCRATES. 

HE  angelical  or  middle  beings  of  the  Greeks 
and  Romans  are  called  by  the  common  name 
of  genii,  though  the  term  is  not  correct,  for 
the  Greeks  were  unacquainted  with  the  word 
genius.  Their  spirit  was  called  a  demon ; 
and  we  suspect  that  a  further  distinction  is  to  be  drawn 
between  the  two  words,  for  a  reason  which  will  be  seen  by 
and  by.  The  ill  sense  in  which  demon  is  now  taken, 
originated  with  the  Fathers  of  the  Church,  who,  assuming 
that  a  pagan  intelligence  must  be  a  bad  one,  caused  the 
word  to  become  synonymous  with  devil.  But  there  are 
few  things  more  remarkable  than  the  abundant  use  which 
the  Church  made  of  the  speculations  of  the  Greek  philoso- 


60  GENII    OF    THE    GREEKS    AND    ROMANS. 

phers,  and  the  contempt  with  which  indiscreet  members 
of  it  have  treated  them.  Take  away  the  subtleties  of  the 
Platonic  theology  from  certain  sects  of  Christians,  and 
their  very  orthodoxy  would  tumble  to  pieces. 

Demon,  if  it  be  derived,  as  most  of  the  learned  think, 
from  a  word  signifying  to  k)iow  by  inquiry,  and  the  root 
of  which  signifies  a  torch,  may  be  translated  the  enlight- 
ened, or,  simply,  a  light  or  intelligence.  A  blessed  spirit, 
eternally  increasing  in  knowledge  or  illumination  (which 
some  think  will  be  one  of  its  beatitudes),  gives  an  enlarged 
sense  to  the  word  demon. 

Plato  certainly  had  no  ill  opinion  of  his  demon,  even 
when  the  intelligence  was  acting  in  a  manner  which  the 
vulgar  pronounced  to  be  evil,  and  upon  which  the  philoso- 
pher has  delivered  a  sentiment  equally  profound  and  hu- 
mane. The  following  may  be  regarded  as  a  summary  of 
his  notions  about  the  spiritual  world.  Taking  up  the  reli- 
gion of  his  country,  as  proclaimed  by  Hesiod  and  others, 
and  endeavoring  to  harmonize  it  with  reason,  he  conceived 
that,  agreeably  to  the  ranks  and  gradations  which  we  fancy 
in  nature,  there  must  be  intermediate  beings  between  men 
and  gods,  —  the  gods  themselves  being  far  from  the  top  of 
spirituality.  We  have  already  stated  his  opinions  on  that 
subject.  Next  to  the  gods  came  the  demons,  who  partook 
of  their  divinity  mixed  with  what  he  called  the  soul  of  the 
world,  and  ministered  round  about  them  as  well  as  on 
earth  ;  in  fact,  were  the  angels  of  the  Christian  system 
but  a  little  more  allied  to  their  superiors.  "  What  other 
philosophers  called  demons,"  says  the  devout  platonical 
Jew  Philo,   "  Moses  usually  called  angels."  *      Next  to 


*  There  is  good  reason  to  believe  that  Dionysius,  the  pretended  Areopagite, 
who  is  the  great  authority  with  writers  upon  the  angelical  nature,  was  a  Platon- 


GENII    OF   THE    GREEKS    AND    ROMANS.  6l 

demons,  but  farther  apart  from  them  than  demons  were 
from  the  gods,  and  yet  partaking  of  the  angelical  office, 
were  heroes,  or  spirits  clothed  in  a  light  ethereal  body,  and 
partaking  still  more  of  the  soul  of  the  world  ;  perhaps  the 
souls  of  men  who  had  been  heroical  on  earth,  or  sent 
down  to  embody  them  to  that  end.  And  lastly  came  the 
souls  of  men,  which  were  the  faintest  emanation  of  the 
Deity,  and  clogged  with  earthly  clothing  in  addition  to 
the  mundane  nature  of  their  spirits.* 

The  chiefs  among  these  spiritual  beings  were  very  like 
the  gods,  and  often  mistaken  for  them,  which  is  said  to 
have  given  them  great  satisfaction.  It  is  upon  the  strength 
of  this  fancy  that  attempts  were  made  to  account  for  the 


izing  Christian  of  the  school  of  Alexandria.  If  so,  there  is  no  saying  how  far 
we  are  not  indebted  for  our  ordinary  notions  of  angels  themselves  to  Plato,  nor 
indeed  how  far  the  Christian  and  Jewish  angel  and  the  demon  of  the  Greeks 
are  not  one  and  the  same  spirit ;  for  it  is  impossible  to  say  how  much  of  the 
Jewish  Cabala  is  not  Alexandrian.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Platonists  of  that 
city  mixed  up  their  dogmas  with  the  Oriental  philosophy,  so  that  the  angel 
comes  round  again  to  the  East,  and  is  traceable  to  Persia  and  India.  Nothing 
of  all  this  need  shake  him ;  for  it  is  in  the  heart  and  hopes  of  man  that  his  nest 
is  found.  Plato's  angel,  Pythagoras's,  Philo's,  Zoroaster's,  and  Jeremy  Tay- 
lor's, are  all  the  same  spirit  under  different  names ;  and  those  who  would  love 
him  properly,  must  know  as  much,  or  they  cannot.  Henry  Moore  and  others, 
who  may  be  emphatically  styled  our  angelical  doctors,  avowedly  undertook  to 
unite  the  Platonic,  Pythagorean,  and  Cabalistic  opinion.  (See  Enfield's 
Abridgment  of  Brucker.)  It  is  true  they  derived  them  all  from  the  Hebrew,  — 
which  is  about  as  much  as  if  they  had  said  that  the  Egyptians  were  skilled  in 
all  the  learning  of  Moses,  instead  of  Moses  in  all  the  learning  of  the  Egyp- 
tians. 

*  Demons  and  heroes  were  the  angels  and  saints  of  the  Catholic  hierarchy. 
They  had  their  chapels,  altars,  feasts,  and  domestic  worship  precisely  in  the 
same  spirit ;  and  the  souls  of  the  departed  were  from  time  to  time  added  to  the 
list.  (See  the  Abbe  Banier's  "  Mythology  and  Fables  of  the  Ancients,"  ex- 
plained from  history,  vol.  iii.  p.  434.)  The  heroines  were  the  female  saints. 
We  make  this  remark  in  no  ironical  spirit,  though  the  Abbe  would  not  thank 
us  for  it. 


62  GENII    OF   THE    GREEKS   AND   ROMANS. 

stories  of  the  gods,  and  their  freaks  upon  earth ;  for  de- 
mons, any  more  than  angels,  were  not  incapable  of  a  little 
aberration.  The  supposed  visits,  for  instance,  of  Jupiter 
down  to  earth,  when  he  came  — 

"  Now,  like  a  ram,  fair  Helle  to  pervert, 
Now,  like  a  bull,  Europa  to  withdraw," 

were  the  work  of  those  spirits  about  him,  who  may  truly 
be  called  the  jovial,  and  who  delighted  in  bearing  his 
name,  as  a  Scottish  clan  does  that  of  its  chieftain.  We 
have  already  mentioned  the  pious  indignation  of  Plutarch 
at  the  indiscreet  tales  of  the  poets.  It  is  remarkable  that, 
according  to  Plato,  these  satellites  encircled  their  master 
precisely  in  the  manner  of  the  angelical  hierarchies. 
"But  how  different,"  it  may  be  said,  "were  their  na- 
tures !  "  Not,  perhaps,  quite  so  much  so  as  may  be  fancied. 
We  have  already  hinted  a  resemblance  in  one  point ;  and, 
in  others,  the  advantage  has  not  always  been  kept  on  the 
proper  side.  Milton's  angels,  when  they  let  clown  the 
unascendable,  heavenly  staircase  to  imbitter  the  agonies 
of  Satan,  did  a  worse  thing  than  any  recorded  of  the  Ju- 
piters  and  Apollos.  We  must  be  cautious  how,  in  attrib- 
uting one  or  two  virtues  to  a  set  of  beings,  we  think  we 
endow  them  with  all  the  rest 

Demons  were  not,  as  some  thought  them,  the  souls  of 
men.  The  latter  had  the  honor  of  assisting  demons,  but 
were  a  separate  class.  Indeed,  according  to  Plato,  the 
word  soul  might  as  well  have  been  put  for  man,  in  opposi- 
tion to  spirit ;  for  he  held  that  the  human  being  was  prop- 
erly a  soul,  using  the  body  only  as  an  instrument.  Nor 
was  this  soul  the  guardian  angel  or  demon,  though  some- 
times called  a  demon  by  reason  of  its  superiority,  but  man 
himself.     It  was  immortal,  pre-existent ;   and  the  object 


GENII    OF   THE   GREEKS   AND    ROMANS.  63 

of  virtue  was  to  restore  it  to  its  former  state  of  beatitude 
in  certain  regions  of  light,  from  which  it  had  fallen.  This, 
among  other  doctrines  of  Plato,  has  been  a  favorite  one 
with  the  poets,  and  would  appear  to  have  been  seriously 
entertained  by  one  of  the  present  day.*  What  difficulty 
it  clears,  or  what  trouble  it  takes  away,  we  cannot  see. 
Progression  is  surely  a  better  doctrine  than  recovery ; 
especially  if  we  look  upon  evil  as  partial,  fugitive,  and  con- 
vertible, like  a  hard  substance,  to  good.  Besides,  we 
should  take  the  whole  of  our  species  with  us,  and  not  al- 
ways be  looking  after  our  own  lost  perfections. 

The  guardian  demons  assigned  to  man,  came  out  of  the 
whole  of  these  orders  indiscriminately.  Their  rank  was 
proportioned  to  the  virtue  and  intelligence  of  the  individ- 
ual. Plotinus  and  others  had  guardian  demons  of  a  very 
high  order.  The  demon  of  Socrates  is  said  to  have  been 
called  a  god,  because  it  was  of  the  order  that  were  taken 
for  gods.  It  was  the  business  of  this  spiritual  attendant 
to  be  a  kind  of  soul  in  addition.  The  soul,  or  real  man, 
governed  the  animal  part  of  us  ;  and  the  demon  governed 
the  soul.  He  was  a  tutor  accompanying  the  pupil.  If  the 
pupil  did  amiss,  it  was  not  the  tutor's  fault.  He  lamented, 
and  tried  to  mend  it,  perhaps,  by  subjecting  it  to  some 
misery,  or  even  vice.  The  process  in  this  case  is  not  very 
clear.  Good  demons  appear  sometimes  to  be  distinct 
from  bad  ones,  sometimes  to  be  confounded  with  them. 
The  vulgar  supposed,  with  the  Jesuit  who  wrote  the  "  Pan- 
theon," that  every  person  had  two  demons  assigned  to 
him :  one  a  good  demon  who  incited  him  to  virtue ;  the 
other  a  bad  one,  who  prompted  him  "  to  all  manner  of  vice 


*  "  Our  life  is  but  a  dream  and  a  forgetting." 

Wordsworth. 


'64  GENII    OF    THE    GREEKS    AND    ROMANS. 

and  wickedness."  *  But  the  benign  logic  of  Plato  rejected 
a  useless  malignity.  Evil  when  it  came,  was  supposed  to 
be  for  a  good  purpose  :  or  rather  not  being  of  a  nature  to 
be  immediately  got  rid  of,  was  turned  to  good  account ; 
and  man  was  ultimately  the  better  for  it.  The  demon  did 
every  thing  he  could  to  exalt  the  intellect  of  his  charge, 
to  regulate  his  passions,  and  perfect  his  nature  through- 
out ;  in  short,  to  teach  his  soul,  as  the  soul  aspired  to 
teach  the  body ;  and  what  is  remarkable,  though  he  could 
not  supply  fate  itself,  he  is  said  to  have  supplied  things 
fortuitous ;  that  is  to  say,  "  to  give  us  a  chance,"  as  we 
phrase  it,  and  put  us  in  the  way  of  shaping  what  we  were 
to  suppose  was  rough-hewn.  This  was  reversing  the 
Shakespearian  order  of  Providence,  or  rather,  perhaps, 
giving  it  a  new  meaning  ;  for  we,  or  the  untaught  part  of 
us,  and  fate,  might  be  supposed  to  go  blindly  to  the  same 
end,  did  not  our  intelligence  keep  on  the  alert. 

There's  a  divinity  that  shapes  our  ends, 
Rough-hew  them  how  we  will.f 

*  See  the  "  Pantheon  "  attributed  to  Mr.  Tooke.  Tooke's  "  Pantheon  "  is 
a  rifacitnento  of  King's  "  Pantheon,"  which  was  a  translation  from  a  Jesuit 
of  the  name  of  Pomey.  It  contains  "  in  every  page,  an  elaborate  calumny," 
says  Mr.  Baldwin,  "  upon  the  gods  of  the  Greeks,  and  that  in  the  coarsest 
thoughts  and  words  that  taverns  could  furnish.  The  author  seems  continually 
haunted  by  the  fear  that  his  pupil  might  prefer  the  religion  of  Jupiter  to  the 
religion  of  Christ."  —  Baldwin's  "  Pantheon,"  preface,  p.  5.  This  philosophi- 
cal mythologist  is  of  opinion  that  there  was  no  ground  for  fear  of  that  sort. 
We  have  observed  elsewhere  how  little  the  young  readers  of  Tooke  think  of 
the  abuse  at  all ;  but  if  they  had  any  sense  of  it,  undoubtedly  it  goes  in  Jupi- 
ter's favor.  We  believe  there  is  one  thing  which  is  not  lost  upon  them,  and 
that  is,  the  affected  horror  and  secret  delight  with  which  the  Jesuit  dwells  upon 
certain  vagaries  of  the  gayer  deities.  Besides,  he  paints  sometimes  in  good, 
admiring  earnest ;  and  then  the  boys  attend  to  him  as  gravely.  See,  for  in- 
stance, the  beginning  of  his  chapter  on  Venus,  which,  if  we  read  once  at  school, 
we  read  a  thousand  times,  comparing  it  with  the  engraving. 

t  See  Taylor's  and  Sydenham's  "  Translations  of  Plato,"  vol.  i.  p.  16,  and 
vol.  ii.  p.  308. 


GENII   OF   THE   GREEKS   AND   ROMANS.  65 

If  all  this  is  not  much  clearer  than  attempts  to  explain 
such  matters  are  apt  to  be,  and  if  the  parts  of  Plato's  the- 
ology (which  were  derived  from  the  national  creed)  do 
little  honor  sometimes  to  the  general  spirit  of  it,  which 
was  his  own  ;  there  is  something  at  all  times  extremely 
elevating  in  his  aspirations  after  the  good  and  beautiful. 
St.  Augustin  complained  that  the  reading  of  Plato  made 
him  proud.  We  do  believe  that  it  is  impossible  for  read- 
ers of  any  enthusiasm  to  sit  long  over  some  of  his  writings 
(the  Banquet  for  instance)  and  not  feel  an  unusual  exalta- 
tion of  spirit,  —  a  love  of  the  good  and  beautiful,  for  their 
own  sakes,  and  in  honor  of  human  nature.  But  there  is 
no  danger,  we  conceive,  provided  we  correct  this  poetical 
state  of  self-aspiration  with  a  remembrance  of  the  admo- 
nitions of  Christianity,  —  the  sympathy  with  our  fellow- 
creatures.  The  more  hope  we  have  of  ourselves  under 
that  correction,  the  more  we  shall  have  of  others. 

The  great  point  is  to  elevate  ourselves  by  elevating  hu- 
manity at  large. 

It  is  difficult  to  know  what  to  make  of  the  demon  of 
Socrates.  It  is  clear  that  he  laid  claim  to  a  special  con- 
sciousness of  this  attendant  spirit  —  a  sort  of  revelation, 
that  we  believe  had  never  before  been  vouchsafed.  The 
spirit  gave  him  intimations  rather  what  to  avoid  than  to 
do ;  for  the  Platonists  tell  us,  that  Socrates  was  led  by 
his  own  nature  to  do  what  was  right ;  but  out  of  the  fer- 
vor of  his  desire  to  do  it,  was  liable  to  be  mistaken  in  the 
season.  For  instance,  he  had  a  tendency  to  give  the  ben- 
efit of  his  wisdom  to  all  men  indiscriminately ;  and  here 
the  demon  would  sometimes  warn  him  off,  that  he  might 
not  waste  his  philosophy  upon  a  fool.  This  was  at  least  an 
ingenious  and  mortifying  satire.  But  the  spirit  interfered 
also  on  occasions  that  seem  very  trifling,  though  accord- 
5 


66  GENII    OF    THE    GREEKS    AND    ROMANS. 

ant  with  the  office  assigned  to  him  by  Plato  of  presiding 
over  fortuitous  events.  Socrates  was  going  one  day  to  see 
a  friend  in  company  with  some  others,  when  he  made  a 
sudden  halt,  and  told  them  that  his  demon  had  advised 
him  not  to  go  down  that  street,  but  to  choose  another. 
Some  of  them  turned  back,  but  others  persisting  in  the 
path  before  them,  "  on  purpose  as  'twere,  to  confute  Socra- 
tes his  demon,"  encountered  a  herd  of  muddy  swine,  and 
came  home  with  their  clothes  all  over  dirt.  Charillus,  a 
musician  who  had  come  to  Athens  to  see  the  philosopher 
Cebes,  got  especially  mudded,  so  that  now  and  then,  says 
Plutarch,  "he  and  his  friends  would  think  in  merriment 
on  Socrates  his  demon,  wondering  that  it  never  forsook 
the  man,  and  that  Heaven  took  such  particular  care  of 
him."*  It  was  particular  enough  in  heaven,  to  be  sure, 
to  hinder  a  philosopher  from  having  his  drapery  damaged  ; 
but  we  suppose  matters  would  have  been  worse,  had  he 
gone  the  way  of  the  inferior  flesh.  He  would  have  made 
it  worth  the  pigs'  while  to  be  more  tragical. 

This  demon  is  the  only  doubtful  thing  about  the  char- 
acter of  Socrates,  for  as  to  the  common  misconceptions  of 
him,  they  are  but  the  natural  conclusions  of  vulgar  minds ; 
and  Aristophanes,  who  became  a  traitor  to  the  graces  he 
had  learned  at  his  table,  and  condescended  to  encourage 
the  misconceptions  in  order  to  please  the  instinctive  jeal- 
ousy of  the  men  of  wit  and  pleasure  about  town,  was  but 
a  splendid  buffoon.  But  when  we  reflect  that  the  wisdom 
inculcated  by  Socrates  was  of  a  nature  particularly 
straightforward  and  practical ;  this  supernatural  twist  in 

*  See  the  story  as  related  by  Plutarch,  and  translated  by  Creech,  in  the 
"Morals  by  several  Hands."  Vol.  II.  p.  287.  The  street  preferred  by  the 
philosopher  was  "  Trunkmakers  Street,"  and  the  fatal  one  "  Gravers  Row," 
says  Creech,  "near  the  Guildhall." 


GENII    OF    THE    GREEKS    AND    ROMANS.  6^ 

his  pretensions  appears  the  more  extraordinary.  To 
be  sure  it  has  been  well  argued,  that  no  men  are  more 
likely  to  be  put  out  of  their  reckoning  by  a  sudden  incur- 
sion of  fancy  or  demand  upon  their  belief,  than  those  who 
are  the  most  mechanical  and  matter-of-fact  on  all  other 
points.  They  are  not  used  to  it ;  and  have  no  grounds  to 
go  upon,  the  moment  the  hardest  and  dryest  ones  are 
taken  from  under  them.  Plato  has  rendered  it  difficult  to 
believe  this  of  Socrates  ;  but  then  we  have  the  authority 
of  Socrates  for  concluding  that  Plato  put  a  great  deal  in 
his  head  that  he  never  uttered  ;  and  the  Socrates  of  Xen- 
ophon,  we  think,  the  practical  farmer  and  house-keeper, 
might  not  be  supposed  incapable  of  yielding  to  supersti- 
tious delusion  out  of  a  defect  of  imagination.  Socrates 
sometimes  reminds  us  of  Dr.  Johnson.  He  was  a  John- 
son on  a  higher  scale,  healthier  with  more  self-command  ; 
and  instead  of  being  intemperate  and  repenting  all  his  life, 
had  conquered  his  passions,  and  turned  them  into  graces 
becoming  his  reason.  Johnson  had  a  sturdy  every-day 
good  sense  and  wit  and  words  to  impress  it ;  but  it  was 
only  persuasion  in  him :  in  Socrates  it  was  persuasion 
and  practice.  Now  Johnson  had  a  strong  tendency  to  be 
moved  by  superstitious  impressions  and  perplexities  from 
within.  A  sudden  action  of  the  bile,  not  well  understood, 
or  taken  as  a  moral  instead  of  a  physical  intimation,  would 
give  rise  to  some  painful  thoughts ;  and  this  (which  is  a 
weakness  that  many  temperaments  given  to  reflection  and 
not  in  perfect  health,  have  found  it  necessary  to  guard 
against),  would  lead  him  into  some  superstitious  practice, 
or  avoidance.  There  is  a  circumstance  related  of  him, 
very  like  this  one  of  Socrates  ;  only  the  sedentary,  diseased, 
dinner-loving  Englishman  made  a  gloomy  business  of  it ; 
while  the  sturdy  gymnastic  Athenian,  mastering  the  weak- 


68  GENII   OF   THE    GREEKS   AND    ROMANS. 

ness  of  his  stomach,  turned  the  superstition  on  his  side 
into  an  elegance  and  an  exaltation.  The  fact  we  allude  to 
is,  that  Johnson  would  never  go  down  Cranbourne  Alley, 
or  some  street  thereabout.  He  always  turned  and  went 
round  about.  Had  he  been  gay  and  confident,  not  over- 
whelmed with  scrofula,  and  with  the  more  gloomy  parts  of 
his  creed,  he  might  have  sworn  as  Socrates  did,  that  it 
was  his  guardian  angel  that  told  him  not  to  go  that  way. 
Had  it  been  Jeremy  Taylor  —  Jeremy  the  amiable  and  the 
handsome,  the  Sir  Charles  Grandison  of  Christianity,  who, 
with  equal  comfort  to  his  security,  pronounced  a  pane- 
gyric upon  a  wedding  ring,  or  a  description  of  eternal  tor- 
ments (so  much  can  superstition  pervert  a  sweet  nature) 
—  he,  if  he  had  thought  he  had  an  intimation  from  within, 
would  have  infallibly  laid  it  to  the  account  of  the  prettiest 
angel  of  the  skies.  Was  it  something  of  a  like  vanity  in 
Socrates  (too  superior  to  his  fellows,  not  to  fall  into  some 
disadvantage  of  that  sort)  ?  or  was  it  an  unhealthy  move- 
ment within  him  happily  turned  ?  or  was  it  a  joke  which 
was  to  be  taken  for  serious,  by  those  who  liked  ?  or  did  it 
arise  from  one  of  those  perplexities  of  not  knowing  what  to 
conclude,  to  which  the  greatest  minds  may  be  subject 
when  they  attain  to  the  end  of  their  experience,  and  stand 
between  the  known  world  and  the  unknown  ?  or,  lastly, 
was  it  owing  (as  we  fear  is  most  likely)  partly  to  a  super- 
stition retained  from  his  nurse,  and  partly  to  a  determina- 
tion to  construe  an  occasional  fancy,  thus  warranted,  into 
a  conscious  certainty,  and  so  turn  his  interest  with  heaven 
to  the  account  of  his  effect  among  men  ?  Such,  we  fear, 
is  the  most  reasonable  conjecture,  and  such  we  take  to  be 
the  general  impression ;  though  with  a  delicacy,  equally 
singular  and  creditable  to  them,  mankind  (with  rare  ex- 
ceptions) seem  to  have  agreed  to  say  as  little  about  the 


GENII   OF   THE    GREEKS   AND    ROMANS.  69 

matter  as  possible,  choosing  rather  to  give  so  great  a  man 
the  benefit  of  their  ignorance,  than  lose  any  part  of  their 
reverence  for  his  wisdom.  One  thing  must  not  be  forgot- 
ten ;  that  this  pretension  to  an  unusual  sense  of  his  attend- 
ant spirit  assisted  in  getting  him  into  trouble.  He  was 
accused  of  introducing  false  gods,  —  a  singular  charge, 
which  shows  how  much  the  opinion  of  a  guardian  deity 
had  gone  out  of  use.  On  the  other  hand,  he  argued  (with 
a  true  look  of  feeling,  and  which  must  afterwards  have 
had  great  effect),  that  it  was  not  his  fault  if  he  beheld  in 
omens  and  intimations  the  immediate  influence  of  his 
guardian  angel,  and  not  merely  the  omens  themselves. 
That  he  did  believe  in  the  latter  somehow  or  other,  is 
generally  admitted. 

It  is  not  a  little  curious,  that  this  is  the  only  story  of  a 
good  demon  that  has  come  down  to  us  in  the  records  of 
antiquity.  Some  philosophers  had  theirs  long  after- 
wards ;  but  these  were  evident  imitations.  Stories  of  bad 
demons,  according  to  the  vulgar  notion,  are  more  numer- 
ous. Two  are  to  be  found  in  the  life  of  Apollonius  of 
Tyana.  Another  is  in  Pausanus,  and  a  third  is  the  fa- 
mous one  of  Brutus.  These  injurious  persons  were  sel- 
dom however  bad  by  nature.  They  become  so  from  ill 
usage,  being  in  fact,  the  souls  of  men  who  had  been  ill 
treated  when  alive. 


70  GENII    OF   ANTIQUITY   AND    THE    POETS. 


ON   THE   GENII    OF   ANTIQUITY  AND   THE 
POETS. 

HE  bad  demon  was  thought  to  be  of  formidable 
shape,  black,  frowning,  and  brutal.  A  man, 
according  to  Pausanias,  fought  with  one,  and 
drove  him  into  the  sea.  As  we  have  told  the 
story  before  (in  the  "  Indicator  "),*  and  it  is 
little  to  tell,  we  shall  proceed  to  give  the  noblest  passage 
ever  written  about  demons,  in  the  scene  out  of  Shake- 
speare. The  spirit  that  appeared  to  Brutus  has  been  vari- 
ously represented.  Some  made  it  of  the  common  order  of 
malignant  appearances  ;  others  have  described  it  as  resem- 
bling Caesar.  This  was  the  light  in  which  it  was  beheld 
by  our  great  poet. 

With  what  exquisite  art ;  that  is  to  say,  with  what  ex- 
quisite nature,  has  he  not  introduced  this  scene,  and  made 
us  love  and  admire  the  illustrious  patriot,  who  having  done 
what  he  could  upon  earth,  and  prepared  for  his  last  effort, 
is  about  to  encounter  the  menaces  of  fate.  How  admira- 
bly, by  the  help  of  the  little  boy  and  the  lute,  has  he 
painted  him,  who  was  only  a  dictator  and  a  warrior  be- 
cause he  was  a  great  humanist,  the  Platonic  philosopher 
in  action,  the  ideal,  yet  not  passionless,  man,  —  such  a  one 
as  Shakespeare  loved,  not  because  he  loved  only  select 
human  nature,  but  because  he  loved  all  that  human  nature 
contained  ! 

We  must  confess,  that  in  our  opinion  the  address  to  the 
Ghost  is  not  so  good  as  in  simple  old  Plutarch.  There  is 
too  much  astonishment  and  agitation  in  it ;  if  not  for  na- 

*  In  the  article  on  the  "Household  Gods  of  the  Ancients."  —  Ed. 


GENII    OF    ANTIQUITY    AND    THE    POETS.  71 

ture,  at  least  for  the  superinduced  and  philosophic  nature, 
that  we  are  led  to  suppose  was  in  Brutus  ;  and  the  same 
objection  might  be  made  to  what  follows.  The  household 
are  called  up  in  too  much  alarm.  It  is  Brutus's  care  for 
his  servants,  his  bidding  them  take  their  rest,  and  what 
he  says  to  the  little  lute-player,  overcome  with  sleep,  that 
render  the  scene  so  charming.  The  divine  scene  also  be- 
tween him  and  Cassius,  where  he  tells  him  that  "  Portia 
is  dead,"  has  just  preceded  it. 

Brutus.    Lucius,  my  gown.     [Exit  Lucius.]     Farewell,  good  Messala ; 
Good  night,  Titinius:  —  nob!e,  noble  Cassius, 
Good  night,  and  good  repose. 

Cassius.     O,  my  dear  brother  ! 
This  was  an  ill  beginning  of  the  night : 
Never  come  such  division  'tween  our  souls  1 
Let  it  not,  Brutus. 

Bru.  Every  thing  is  well. 

Cas.     Good  night,  my  lord. 

Bru.    Good  night,  good  brother. 

Titinius  and  Messala.     Good  night,  lord  Brutus. 

Bru.  Farewell,  every  one. 

[Exeunt  Cos.,  Tit.,  and  Mes. 

Re-enter  Lucius  ■with  the  gown. 

Give  me  the  gown.    Where  is  thy  instrument  ? 

Lucius.     Here  in  the  tent. 

Bru.  What,  thou  speak'st  drowsily  ? 

Poor  knave,  I  blame  thee  not ;  thou  art  o'er-watched. 
Call  Claudius,  and  some  other  of  my  men ; 
I'll  have  them  sleep  on  cushions  in  my  tent. 

Luc.     Varro  and  Claudius. 

Enter  Varro  and  Claudius. 

Varro.     Calls  my  lord  ? 

Bru.     I  pray  you,  sirs,  lie  in  my  t»nt  and  sleep ; 
It  may  be,  I  shall  raise  you  by  and  by 
On  business  to  my  brother  Cassius. 

Var.     So  please  you,  we  will  stand,  and  watch  your  pleasure. 

Bru.     I  will  not  have  it  so :  lie  down,  good  sirs ; 


72  GENII    OF   ANTIQUITY   AND    THE    POETS. 


It  may  be,  I  shall  otherwise  think  me. 

Look,  Lucius,  here's  the  book  I  sought  for  so ; 

I  put  it  in  the  pocket  of  my  gown.  [Servants  lie  down. 

Lite.     I  was  sure,  your  lordship  did  not  give  it  me. 

Bru.     Bear  with  me,  good  boy,  I  am  much  forgetful. 
Canst  thou  hold  up  thy  heavy  eyes  awhile, 
And  touch  thy  instrument  a  strain  or  two  ? 

Luc.    Ay,  my  lord,  an  it  please  you. 

Bru.  It  does,  my  boy. 

I  trouble  thee  too  much,  but  thou  art  willing. 

Luc.     It  is  my  duty,  sir. 

Bru.     I  should  not  urge  thy  duty  past  thy  might ; 
I  know  young  bloods  look  for  a  time  of  rest 

Luc.     I  have  slept,  my  lord,  already. 

Bru.     It  is  well  done ;  and  thou  shalt  sleep  again ; 
I  will  not  hold  thee  long :  if  I  do  live, 

I  will  be  good  to  thee.  [Music  and  a  song. 

This  is  a  sleepy  tune :  —  0,  murderous  slumber  1 
Lay'st  thou  thy  leaden  mace  upon  my  boy, 
That  plays  thee  music?  —  Gentle  knave,  good  night ; 
I  will  not  do  thee  so  much  wrong  to  wake  thee. 
If  thou  dost  nod,  thou  break'st  thy  instrument ; 
I'll  take  it  from  thee ;  and  good  boy,  good  night. 
Let  me  see,  let  me  see ;  is  not  the  leaf  turn'd  down, 
Where  I  left  reading  ?    Here  it  is,  I  think.  [He  sits  down. 

Enter  the  Ghost  o/Qm&kr. 

How  ill  this  taper  burns !    Ha  !  who  comes  here  ? 
I  think  it  is  the  weakness  of  mine  eyes, 
That  shapes  this  monstrous  apparition. 
It  comes  upon  me :  — art  thou  any  thing? 
Art  thou  some  god,  some  angel,  or  some  devil, 
That  mak'st  my  blood  cold,  and  my  hair  to  stare  ? 
Speak  to  me,  what  thou  art. 

Ghost.    Thy  evil  spirit,  Brutus. 

Bru.  Why  com'st  thou? 

Ghost.    To  tell  thee,  thou  shalt  see  me  at  Philippi. 

Bru.    Well; 
Then  I  shall  see  thee  again  ? 

Ghost.  Ay,  at  Philippi.  [Ghost  vanishes. 

Bru.    Why,  I  will  see  thee  at  Philippi  then.  — 
Now  I  have  taken  heart,  thou  vanishest  : 
111  spirit,  I  would  hold  more  talk  with  thee.  — 


GENII    OF   ANTIQUITY   AND    THE    POETS.  73 

Boy!    Lucius  I    Varro!    Claudius  1    sirs  awake  I  — 
Claudius ! 

Luc.    The  strings,  my  lord,  are  false. 

Bru.    He  thinks,  he  is  still  at  his  instrument.  — 
Lucius,  awake. 

Luc.     My  lord? 

Bru.    Didst  thou  dream  that  thou  so  cry'dst  out  ? 

Luc.    My  lord,  I  do  not  know  that  I  did  cry. 

Bru.    Yes,  that  thou  didst ;  didst  thou  see  any  thing? 

Luc.     Nothing,  my  lord. 

Bru.    Sleep  again,  Lucius.  —  Sirrah,  Claudius  1 
Fellow  thou  !  awake. 

Var.     My  lord. 

Clau.     My  lord. 

Bru.    Why  did  you  so  cry  out,  sirs,  in  your  sleep? 

Var.  and  Clau.    Did  we,  my  lord? 

Bru.  Ay :  saw  you  any  thing  ? 

Var.    No,  my  lord,  I  saw  nothing. 

Clau.  Nor  I,  my  lord. 

Bru.    Go,  and  commend  me  to  my  brother  Cassius ; 
Bid  him  set  on  his  powers  betimes  before ; 
And  we  will  follow. 

Var.  and  Clau.    It  shall  be  done,  my  lord.  [Exeunt. 

The  Roman  genius  appears  to  have  been  a  very  mate- 
rial sort  of  personage  compared  with  the  Greek  demon, 
and  altogether  addicted  to  earth.  We  know  not  where  it 
is  found  that  he  was  first  called  gerulusy  or  a  carrier 
on  of  affairs  :  perhaps  in  Varro  ;  but  whether  as  gerulus, 
or  as  genius  (the  spirit  of  things  generated),  the  Romans 
made  him  after  their  own  likeness,  and  gave  him  as  little 
to  do  with  the  stars  as  possible.  The  Romans  had  not 
the  fancy  of  the  Greeks,  and  cared  little  for  their  ethereal 
pleasures.  Accordingly,  their  attendant  spirit  was  either 
fighting  and  conquering  (on  which  occasion  he  took  the 
wings  of  victory,  as  you  may  see  in  the  imperial  sculp- 
tures), or  he  was  dining  and  enjoying  himself:  sitting 
under  his  plane-tree  and  drinking  with  his  mistress.     To 


74  GENU    OF    ANTIQUITY   AND    THE    POETS. 

gratify  their  appetites,  was  called  "  indulging  the  genius;  " 
not  to  gratify  them,  was  "defrauding"  him.  They  seem 
to  have  forgotten  that  he  had  any  thing  to  do  with  re- 
straint. Ovid,  the  most  poetical  of  their  poets,  in  all  his 
uses  of  the  words  genius  or  genii,  never  hints  at  the  pos- 
sibility of  their  having  any  meaning  beyond  something 
local  and  comfortable.  There  is  the  genius  of  the  city, 
and  the  genius  of  one's  father.  The  Sabine  women  were 
"  a  genial  prey."  Crowns  of  flowers  are  genial ;  a  certain 
kind  of  musical  instrument  is  particularly  genial,  and 
agrees  with  dulcibus  jocis,  —  that  is  to  say,  with  double 
meanings  ;  Bacchus  is  the  planter  of  the  genial  vine  (gen- 
ial indeed  was  a  name  of  Bacchus) ;  a  popular  holiday, 
pleasantly  described  in  the  Fasti,  where  every  one  is  eat- 
ing and  drinking  by  the  side  of  his  lass,  is  a  genial  feast* 

Hence  the  acceptation  of  the  word  among  ourselves, 
though  we  are  fain  to  give  it  more  grace  and  sentiment. 
The  "genial  bed"  of  Milton  is  not  exactly  Ovidian; 
though,  by  the  way,  the  good-natured  libertine  was  the 
favorite  Latin  poet  of  our  great  puritan. 

We  hear  little  of  the  bad  genius  among  the  Romans. 
They  seem  to  have  agreed  to  treat  him  as  bad  geniuses 
ought  to  be,  and  drop  his  acquaintance.  But  he  was  black, 
like  his  brother  in  Greece.  Voltaire  has  a  pleasant  story 
of  the  black  and  white  genius.  Valerius  Maximus,  a  ser- 
vile writer,  who  had  the  luck  to  survive  his  betters  and 
become  a  classic,  tells  a  story  (probably  to  please  the  men 
in  power  whom  he  deified)  which  appears  to  have  been 
confounded  with  that  of  Brutus.  "  We  are  told  by  Vale- 
rius Maximus,"  says  Mr.  Tooke,  "that  when  Cassius  fled 


*  "  Fastorum,"  lib.  iii.  v.  523.    It  is  the  description  of  a  modern  Florentine 
holiday. 


GENII    OF  ANTIQUITY   AND    THE    POETS.         75 

to  Athens,  after  Anthony  was  beaten  at  Actium,  there  ap- 
peared to  him  a  man  of  long  stature,  of  a  black  swarthy 
complexion,  with  large  hair,  and  a  nasty  beard.  Cassius 
asked  him  who  he  was  ;  and  the  apparition  answered,  '  I 
am  your  evil  genius.'  "  * 

Spenser  has  placed  an  evil  genius  at  the  gate  of  his  false 
bower  of  bliss,  and  old  genius,  or  the  fatherly  principle 
of  life  and  care,  at  the  door  of  the  great  nursery-gardens 
of  the  universe. 

Old  genius  the  porter  of  them  was ; 

Old  genius,  the  which  a  double  nature  has. 

He  letteth  in,  he  letteth  out  to  wend, 
All  that  to  come  into  this  world  desire ; 
A  thousand  thousand  naked  babes  attend 
About  him  day  and  night,  which  do  require 
That  he  with  fleshly  weeds  would  them  attire. 

What  follows  and  precedes  this  passage  is  a  true  piece 
of  Platonical  coloring,  founded  upon  the  old  Greek  alle- 
gories. These  nursery  grounds,  sprouting  with  infants 
and  with  the  germs  of  all  things,  would  make  a  very  happy 
place  if  it  were  not  for  Time,  who  with  his  "  flaggy  wings," 
goes  playing  the  devil  among  the  beds,  to  the  great  regret 
of  Venus.  It  is  an  old  story,  and  a  true  ;  and  the  worst 
of  it  is,  that  Venus  herself  (though  the  poet  does  not  here 
say  so)  joins  with  her  enemies  to  assist  him. 

Were  it  not  that  Time  their  troubler  is, 


All  that  in  this  delightful  gardin  grcwes 
Should  happy  been,  and  have  immortal  bliss : 
For  here  all  plenty  and  all  pleasure  flowes ; 
And  swete  Love  gentle  fitts  among  them  throwes, 
Without  fell  rancour  or  fond  gealosy : 


*  Toeke's  "  Pantheon,"  part  4,  chap.  iii.  sect.  4.   The  genius  speaks  Greek, 
which  was  better  bred  of  him  than  having  a  beard. 


j6         GENII    OF   ANTIQUITY   AND    THE    POETS. 

Franckly  each  paramour  his  leman  knowes ; 
Each  bird  his  mate ;  ne  any  does  envy 
Their  goodly  meriment  and  gay  felicity. 

There  is  continual  spring,  and  harvest  there 
Continuall,  both  meeting  at  one  tyme : 
For  both  the  boughes  doe  laughing  blossoms  beare, 
And  with  fresh  colours  decke  the  wanton  pryme, 
And  eke  attonce  the  heavy  trees  they  clyme, 
Which  seeme  to  labour  under  their  fruites  lode : 
The  whyles  the  joyous  birdes  make  their  pastyme 
Emongst  the  shady  leaves,  their  sweet  abode, 

And  their  trew  loves  without  suspicion  tell  abrode. 

We  are  then  presented  with  one  of  his  arbors,  of  which 
he  was  the  cunningest  builder  in  all  fairy-land.  The  pres- 
ent one  belongs  to  Venus  and  Adonis. 

Right  in  the  middest  of  that  Paradise 
There  stood  a  stately  mount,  on  whose  round  top 
A  gloomy  grove  of  mirtle  trees  did  rise, 
Whose  shady  boughes  sharp  Steele  did  never  lop, 
Nor  wicked  beastes  their  tender  buds  did  crop, 
But  like  a  girlond  compassed  the  hight, 
And  from  their  fruitfull  sydes  sweet  gum  did  drop, 
That  all  the  ground,  with  pretious  deaw  bedight, 

Threw  forth  most  dainty  odours  and  most  sweet  delight. 

And  in  the  thickest  covert  of  that  shade 

There  was  a  pleasant  arber,  not  by  art 

But  of  the  trees  own  inclination  made, 

Which  knitting  their  rancke  braunches  part  to  part, 

With  wanton  yvie-twine  entrayled  athwart, 

And  eglantine  and  caprifole  emong, 

Fashion'd  above  within  their  inmost  part, 

That  neither  Phoebus  beams  could  through  them  throng, 
Nor  jEolus  sharp  blast  could  worke  them  any  wrong. 

Fairy  Queene,  Book  III.  Canto  vi. 

Here  Venus  was  wont  to  enjoy  the  company  of  Adonis  ; 
"  Adonis,"  says  Upton,  "  being  matter,  and  Venus,  form." 


GENII    OF    ANTIQUITY   AND    THE    POETS.  77 

Ovid  would  have  said,  "  he  did  not  know  how  that  might 
be,  but  that  the  allegory  'was  genial.' " 

The  poets  are  a  kind  of  eclectic  philosophers,  who  pick 
out  of  theories  whatever  is  suitable  to  the  truth  of  natural 
feeling  and  the  candor  of  experience  ;  and  thus,  with  due 
allowances  for  what  is  taught  them,  may  be  looked  upon 
as  among  the  truest  as  well  as  most  universal  of  philoso- 
phers. The  most  opinionate  of  them,  Milton  for  one,  are 
continually  surrendering  the  notions  induced  upon  them  by 
their  age  or  country,  to  the  cause  of  their  greater  mother- 
country,  the  universe ;  like  beings  deeply  sympathizing 
with  man,  but  impatient  of  wearing  the  clothes  and  cus- 
toms of  a  particular  generation.  It  is  doubtful,  consider- 
ing the  whole  context  of  Milton's  life,  and  taking  away 
the  excitements  of  personal  feelings,  whether  he  was  a  jot 
more  in  earnest  when  playing  the  polemic,  than  in  giving 
himself  up  to  the  dreams  of  Plato  ;  whether  he  felt  more, 
or  so  much,  in  common  with  Raphael  and  Michael,  as 
with  the  genius  of  the  groves  of  Harefield,  listening  at 
night-time  to  the  music  of  the  spheres.  In  one  of  his 
prose  works  (we  quote  from  memory)  he  complains  of 
being  forced  into  public  brawls  and  "  hoarse  seas  of  dis- 
pute ; "  and  asks,  what  but  a  sense  of  duty  could  have 
enabled  him  thus  to  have  been  "  put  off  from  beholding  the 
bright  countenance  of  Truth  in  the  quiet  and  still  air  of  de- 
lightful studies."  This  truth  was  truth  universal ;  this  air, 
the  same  that  haunted  the  room  of  Plato,  and  came  breath- 
ing from  Elysium.  No  man  had  a  greater  taste  than  he 
for  the  "  religio  loci,"  —  the  genius  of  a  particular  spot. 
The  genius  of  a  wood  in  particular,  was  a  special  friend 
of  his,  as  indeed  he  has  been  of  all  poets.  The  following 
passage  has  been  often  quoted  ;  but  we  must  not  on  that 
account  pass  it  by.     New  beauties  may  be  found  in  it  every 


78  GENII    OF   ANTIQUITY   AND    THE    POETS. 

time.  A  passage  in  a  wood  has  been  often  trod,  but  we 
tread  it  again.  The  pleasure  is  ever  young,  though  the 
path  is  old.     So  — 

When  the  sun  begins  to  fling 

His  flaring  beams,  me,  Goddess,  bring 

To  arched  walks  of  twilight  groves, 

And  shadows  brown,  that  Sylvan  loves, 

Of  pine  or  monumental  oak, 

Where  the  rude  axe  with  heaved  stroke, 

Was  never  heard  the  nymphs  to  daunt, 

Or  fright  them  from  their  hallow'd  haunt. 

There  in  close  covert  by  some  brook, 

Where  no  profaner  eye  may  look, 

Hide  me  from  day's  garish  eye, 

While  the  bee  with  honied  thigh, 

That  at  her  flowery  work  doth  sing, 

And  the  waters  murmuring, 

With  such  consort  as  they  keep, 

Entice  the  dewy-feather'd  sleep ; 

And  let  some  strange  mysterious  dream 

Wave  at  his  wings  in  aery  stream 

Of  lively  portraiture  display'd, 

Softly  on  my  eye-lids  laid. 

And  as  I  wake,  sweet  music  breathe 

Above,  about,  or  underneath, 

Sent  by  some  spirit  to  mortals  good, 

Or  the  unseen  genius  of  the  wood. 

Penseroso. 

In  the  Arcades,  a  Marque  performed  at  Harefield  before 
the  Countess  of  Derby,  one  of  these  genii  makes  his 
appearance.  Two  noble  shepherds  coming  forward  are 
met  by  the  "genius  of  the  wood."  We  will  close  our 
article  with  him  as  a  proper  harmonious  personage,  who 
unites  the  spirit  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  demonology. 
He  need  not  have  troubled  himself,  perhaps,  with  '■'■curl- 
ing'1'' the  groves  ;  and  his  " tassel 'd"  horn  is  a  little  fine 
and  particular,  —  not  remote  enough  or  audible.     But  the 


GENII    OF  ANTIQUITY   AND   THE   POETS.  79 

young  poet  was  writing  to  please  young  patricians.    The 
"  tassel "  was  for  their  nobility ;  the  rest  is  for  his  own. 

Stay,  gentle  swains ;  for  though  in  this  disguise, 
I  see  bright  honour  sparkle  through  your  eyes ; 
Of  famous  Arcady  ye  are,  and  sprung 
Of  that  renowned  flood,  so  often  sung, 
Divine  Alpheus,  who  by  secret  sluce 
Stole  under  seas  to  meet  his  Arethuse ; 
And  ye,  the  breathing  roses  of  the  wood, 
Fair  silver-buskined  nymphs,  as  great  and  good ; 
I  know,  this  quest  of  yours,  and  free  intent, 
Was  all  in  honour  and  devotion  meant 
To  the  great  mistress  of  yon  princely  shrine, 
Whom  with  low  reverence  I  adore  as  mine ; 
And,  with  all  helpful  service,  will  comply 
To  further  this  night's  glad  solemnity ; 
And  lead  ye,  where  ye  may  more  near  behold 
What  shallow-searching  fame  hath  left  untold ; 
Which  I  full  oft,  amidst  these  shades  alone, 
Have  sat  to  wonder  at,  and  gaze  upon  ; 
For  know,  by  lot  from  Jove,  I  am  the  power 
Of  this  fair  wood,  and  live  in  oaken  bower, 
To  nurse  the  saplings  tall,  and  curl  the  grove 
With  ringlets  quaint,  and  wanton  windings  wove. 
And  all  my  plants  I  save  from  nightly  ill 
Of  noisome  winds,  and  blasting  vapours  chill ; 
And  from  the  boughs  brush  off  the  evil  dew, 
And  heal  the  harms  of  thwarting  thunder  blue, 
Or  what  the  cross  dire-looking  planet  smites, 
Or  hurtful  worm  with  canker'd  venom  bites. 
When  evening  gray  doth  rise,  I  fetch  my  round 
Over  the  mount  and  all  this  hallow'd  ground ; 
And  early,  ere  the  odorous  breath  of  morn 
Awakes  the  slumbering  leaves,  or  tassel'd  horn 
Shakes  the  high  thicket,  haste  I  all  about, 
Number  my  ranks,  and  visit  every  sprout 
With  puissant  words,  and  murmurs  made  to  bless. 
But  else  in  deep  of  night,  when  drowsiness 
Hath  lock'd  up  mortal  sense,  then  listen  I 
To  the  celestial  Syrens'  harmony, 
That  sit  upon  the  nine  infolded  spheres, 
And  sing  to  those  that  hold  the  vital  shears, 


8o         GENII   OF  ANTIQUITY   AND    THE   POETS. 

And  turn  the  adamantine  spindle  round, 
On  which  the  fate  of  gods  and  men  is  wound. 
Such  sweet  compulsion  doth  in  musick  lie, 
To  lull  the  daughters  of  necessity. 

This  is  a  passage  to  read  at  twilight ;  or  before  put- 
ting out  the  candles,  in  some  old  country  house. 

There  is  yet  one  more  passage  which  we  must  quote 
from  Milton,  about  a  genius.  It  concerns  also  a  very  de- 
moniacal circumstance,  the  cessation  of  the  heathen  ora- 
cles. See  with  what  regret  the  poet  breaks  up  the  haunt 
of  his  winged  beauties,  and  sends  them  floating  away  into 
dissolution  with  their  white  bodies  out  of  the  woods. 

The  oracles  are  dumb, 
No  voice  or  hideous  hum 

Runs  through  the  arched  roof  in  words  deceiving. 
Apollo  from  his  shrine 
Can  no  more  divine, 

With  hollow  shriek  the  steep  of  Delphos  leaving. 
No  nightly  trance,  or  breathed  spell, 
Inspires  the  pale-eyed  priest  from  the  prophetick  cell. 

The  lonely  mountains  o'er, 
And  the  resounding  shore, 

A  voice  of  weeping  heard  and  loud  lament ; 
From  haunted  spring  and  dale, 
Edg'd  with  poplar  pale, 

The  parting  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent : 
With  flower-inwoven  tresses  torn 
The  nymphs  in  twilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets  mourn 

In  consecrated  earth, 
And  on  the  holy  hearth, 

The  Lars,  and  Lemures,  mourn  with  midnight  plaint ; 
In  urns,  and  altars  round, 
A  drear  and  dying  sound 

Affrights  the  Flamens  at  their  service  quaint ; 
And  the  chill  marble  seems  to  sweat, 
While  each  peculiar  Power  foregoes  his  wonted  seat 


FAIRIES.  8l 

He  proceeds  to  dismiss  the  idols  of  Palestine,  and  the 
brute  gods  of  Egypt, 

Trampling  the  unshowered  grass  with  lowings  loud 

We  do  not  feel  for  those,  nor  does  he  ;  but  the  little 
household  gods  of  Rome,  trembling  like  kittens  on  the 
hearth,  and  the  nymphs  of  Greece  mourning  their  flowery 
shades,  he  loses  with  an  air  of  tenderness.  He  forgets 
that  he  and  the  other  poets  had  gathered  them  into  their 
own  Elysium. 


FAIRIES. 

I. 

HE  word  fairy,  in  the  sense  of  a  little  minia- 
ture being,  is  peculiar  to  this  country,  and  is 
a  southern  appellation  applied  to  a  northern 
idea.  It  is  the  fee  and  fata  of  the  French 
and  Italians  ;  who  mean  by  it  an  imaginary 
lady  of  any  sort,  not  of  necessity  small  and  generally  of 
the  human  size.  With  us,  it  is  the  elf  of  our  northern  an- 
cestors, and  means  exclusively  the  little  creature  inhabit- 
ing the  woods  and  caverns,  and  dancing  on  the  grass. 

The  progress  of  knowledge,  which  humanizes  every- 
thing, and  enables  our  fancies  to  pick  and  choose,  has  long 
rendered  the  English  fairy  a  harmless  being,  rarely  seen 
of  eye  and  known  quite  as  much,  if  not  more,  through  the 
pleasant  fancies  of  the  poets,  than  the  earthier  creed  of 
the  common  people-  In  Germany,  also,  the  fairy  is  said 
to  have  become  a  being  almost  entirely  benevolent.  But 
6 


82  FAIRIES. 

among  our  kinsmen  of  the  North,  the  Swedes  and  Danes, 
and  especially  the  insular  races  of  Iceland  and  Rugen, 
the  old  opinions  appear  to  be  in  force ;  and,  generally 
speaking,  the  pigmy  world  may  be  divided  into  four 
classes. 

First,  the  white  or  good  fairies,  who  live  above  ground, 
dancing  on  the  grass,  or  sitting  on  the  leaves  of  trees  — 
the  fairy  of  our  poets.  They  are  fond  of  sunshine,  and 
are  ethereal  little  creatures. 

Second,  the  dark  or  under-ground  fairies  (the  dwarfs, 
trolls,  and  hill-folk  of  the  continent),  an  irritable  race, 
workers  in  mines  and  smithies,  and  doing  good  or  evil 
offices,  as  it  may  happen. 

Third,  the  house  or  homestead  fairy,  our  Puck,  Rob- 
in Goodfellow,  Hobgoblin,  &c.  (the  Nts  of  Denmark  and 
Norway,  the  kobold  of  Germany,  the  brownie  of  Scotland, 
and  t07titegubbe,  or  old  man  of  the  house  in  Sweden). 
He  is  of  a  similar  temper,  but  good  upon  the  whole,  and 
fond  of  cleanliness,  rewarding  and  helping  the  servants 
for  being  tidy,  and  punishing  them  for  the  reverse. 

And  fourth,  the  water  fairy,  the  kelpie  of  Scotland, 
and  Nick,  Neck,  Nickel,  Nickar,  and  Nix,  of  other 
countries,  the  most  dangerous  of  all,  appearing  like  a 
horse,  or  a  mermaid,  or  a  beautiful  girl,  and  enticing 
people  to  their  destruction.  He  is  supposed  by  some, 
however,  not  to  do  it  out  of  ill  will,  but  in  order  to 
procure  companions  in  the  spirits  of  those  who  are 
drowned. 

All  the  fairies  have  qualities  in  common ;  and  for  the 
most  part,  eat,  drink,  marry,  and  are  governed  like  human 
beings  ;  and  all  without  exception  are  thieves,  and  fond  of 
power.  In  other  words,  they  are  like  the  human  beings 
that  invented  them.     They  do  the  same  good  and  ill  of- 


FAIRIES.  S3 

fices,  are  subject  to  the  same  passions,  and  are  called  guid 
folk  and  good  neighbors,  out  of  the  same  feelings  of  fear  or 
gratitude.  The  better  sort  dress  in  gay  clothes  of  green, 
and  are  handsome ;  the  more  equivocal  are  ugly,  big- 
nosed  little  knaves,  round-eyed  and  humpbacked,  like 
Punch,  or  the  figures  in  caricatures.  The  latter  dress  in 
red  or  brown  caps,  which  they  have  a  great  dread  of  los- 
ing, as  they  must  not  rest  till  they  get  another ;  and  the 
hill-folk  among  them  are  great  enemies  to  noise.  They 
keep  their  promises,  because  if  they  did  not,  the  Rugen 
people  say  they  would  be  changed  into  reptiles,  beetles, 
and  other  ugly  creatures,  and  be  obliged  to  wander  in  that 
shape  many  years.  The  ordinary  German  kobold,  or 
house  goblin,  delights  in  a  mess  of  grits  or  water-gruel, 
with  a  lump  of  butter  in  it.  In  other  countries,  as  in 
England  of  old,  he  aspires  to  a  cream  bowl.  Hear  our 
great  poet,  who  was  as  fond  of  a  rustic  supper  as  any  man, 
and  has  recorded  his  roasting  chestnuts  with  his  friend 
Diodati. 

Then  to  the  spicy  nut-brown  ale, 
With  stories  told  of  many  a  feat, 
How  fairy  Mab  the  junkets  eat ; 
She  was  pinch'd  and  pull'd,  she  sed ; 
And  he,  by  friar's  lantern  led ; 
Tells  how  the  drudging  Goblin  swet, 
To  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set, 
When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  morn, 
His  shadowy  flail  hath  thresh'd  the  corn, 
That  ten  day-laborers  could  not  end ; 
Then  lies  him  down  the  Iubbar  fiend, 
And,  stretch'd  out  all  the  chimney's  length, 
Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength ; 
And  crop  full  out  of  doors  he  flings, 
Ere  the  first  cock  his  matin  rings. 
Thus  done  the  tales,  to  bed  they  creep, 
By  whispering  winds  soon  lull'd  asleep. 


84 


FAIRIES. 


This  gigantifying  of  Robin  Goodfellow  is  a  sin  against 
the  true  fairy  religion ;  but  a  poet's  sins  are  apt  to  be  too 
agreeable  not  to  be  forgiven.*  The  friar  with  his  lantern, 
is  the  same  Robin,  whose  pranks  he  delighted  to  record 
even  amidst  the  stately  solemnities  of  Paradise  Lost, — 
philosophizing  upon  the  nature  of  the  ignis  fatuus,  that 
he  might  have  an  excuse  for  bringing  him  in. 

Lead  then,  said  Eve.     He,  leading,  swiftly  roll'd 
In  tangles,  and  made  intricate  seem  straight, 
To  mischief  swift.     Hope  elevates,  and  joy 
Brightens  his  crest ;  as  when  a  wandering  fire, 
Compact  of  unctuous  vapor,  which  the  night 
Condenses,  and  the  cold  environs  round, 
Kindled  through  agitation  to  a  flame, 
Which  oft,  they  say,  some  evil  spirit  attends, 
Hovering  and  blazing  with  delusive  light, 
Misleads  the  amaz'd  night-wanderer  from  his  way 
To  bogs  and  mires,  and  oft  through  pond  or  pool ; 
There  swallow'd  up  and  lost,  from  succor  far. 
So  glister'd  the  dire  Snake. 

We  have  remarked  more  than  once,  that  the  belief  in 
supernatural  existences  round  about  us  is  indigenous  to 
every  country,  and  as  natural  as  fears  and  hopes.     Cli- 

*  "  Robin  Goodfellow,"  says  Warton,  "who  is  here  made  a  gigantic  spirit, 
fond  of  lying  before  the  fire,  and  called  the  lubbar  fiend,  seems  to  be  con- 
founded with  the  sleepy  giant  mentioned  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  '  Knight 
of  the  Burning  Pestle,'  Act  iii,  Sc.  I.  vol.  vi.  p.  411,  edit.  1751."  There  is  a 
pretty  tale  of  a  witch  that  had  the  devil's  mark  about  her,  God  bless  us,  that 
had  a  giant  to  her  son  that  was  called  "  Lob-lye-by-the-fire."  Todd's  Milton, 
vol.  vi.  p.  96.  Burton  in  a  passage  subsequently  quoted,  tells  us  in  speaking 
of  these  fairies,  that  there  is  "  a  bigger  kind  of  them,  called  with  us  Hobgoblins 
and  Robin  Goodfellows,  that  would  in  those  superstitious  times  grinde  corne 
for  a  messe  of  milke,  cut  wood,  or  do  any  manner  of  drudgery  worke."  Me- 
lanch.  part  i.  sec.  2,  p.  42,  edit.  1632.  The  bigness  arose  probably  out  of  the 
superhuman  labor ;  but,  though  Milton  has  made  fine  use  of  the  lubbar  fiend 
with  his  "  hairy  strength,"  it  is  surprising  he  should  have  sacrificed  the  greater 
wonder  of  the  little  potent  fairy  to  that  of  a  giant. 


FAIRIES.  85 

mate  and  national  character  modify  it ;  parts  of  it  may  be 
borrowed ;  a  people  may  abound  in  it  at  one  time,  and 
outgrow  the  abuse  of  it  in  another  :  but  wherever  human 
nature  is  to  be  found,  either  in  a  state  of  superstitious  ig- 
norance, or  imaginative  knowledge,  there  the  belief  will 
be  found  with  it,  modified  accordingly. 

We  shall  not  trouble  ourselves,  therefore,  with  attempt- 
ing to  confine  the  origin  of  the  fairies  to  this  or  that 
region.  A  bird,  a  squirrel,  a  voice,  a  tree  nodding  and 
gesticulating  in  the  wind,  was  sufficient  to  people  every 
one  of  them  with  imaginary  beings.  But  creeds  may  oust 
creeds  or  alter  them,  as  invaders  alter  a  people  ;  and  there 
are  two  circumstances  in  the  nature  of  the  popular  fairy, 
assignable  to  that  northern  mythology,  to  which  the  be- 
lief itself  has  been  traced  ;  we  mean  the  smallness  of  its 
stature,  and  the  supposition  at  one  time  prevailing,  that  it 
was  little  better  than  a  devil.  It  is  remarkable,  also,  that 
inasmuch  as  the  northern  mythology  is  traceable  to  the 
Eastern  invaders  of  Europe,  our  fairies  may  have  issued 
out  of  those  same  mountains  of  Caucasus,  the  great  Kaf, 
to  which  we  are  indebted  for  the  Peries  and  Genii.  The 
Pygmies  were  supposed  by  the  ancients  to  people  the  two 
ends  of  the  earth,  northern  and  southern,  where  the 
growth  of  nature  was  faint  and  stunted.  In  the  north 
they  were  inhabitants  of  India,  the  cranes  their  enemies 
being  Scythians  :  in  the  other  quarters,  they  were  found 
by  Hercules  in  the  desert  where  they  assailed  him  with 
their  bows  and  arrows,  as  the  Lilliputians  did  Gulliver, 
and  were  carried  off  by  the  smiling  demigod,  in  the  skin 
of  his  lion.  Odin,  the  supposed  Scythian  or  Tartar,  is 
thought  to  have  been  the  importer  of  the  northern  fables. 
His  wandering  countrymen  of  the  crane  region,  may  have 
a  nigher  personal  acquaintance  with  the  little  people  of 


86  FAIRIES. 

the  North,  than  is  supposed.  In  the  tales  now  extant 
among  the  Calmuc  Tartars,  and  originating  it  seems  in 
Thibet,  mention  is  made  of  certain  little  children  encoun- 
tered by  a  wandering  Khan  in  a  wood,  and  quarrelling 
about  "  an  invisible  cup."  The  Khan  tricks  them  of  it  in 
good  swindling  style ;  and  proceeding  onwards  meets 
with  certain  Tchadkurs  or  evil  spirits,  quarrelling  about 
some  "boots  of  swiftness,"  of  which  he  beguiles  them  in 
like  manner.* 

These  may  be  chance  coincidences  ;  but  these  fictions 
are  not  of  so  universal  a  nature  as  most ;  and  we  cannot 
help  regarding  them  as  corroborations  of  the  Eastern  rise 
of  our  fablers  of  the  North.  We  take  this  opportunity, 
before  we  proceed,  of  noticing  another  remarkable  circum- 
stance in  the  history  of  popular  fictions  ;  which  is,  that  it 
is  doubtful  whether  the  Greeks  had  any  little  beings  in 
their  mythology.  They  regarded  the  Pygmies  as  a  real 
people,  and  never  seem  to  have  thought  of  giving  them  a 
lift  into  the  supernatural.  And  it  may  be  observed,  that 
although  the  Spaniards  have  a  house-spirit  which  they 
call  Duende,  and  Tasso,  in  the  fever  of  his  dungeon,  was 
haunted  with  a  Folletto,  which  is  the  Follet  or  Lutin  of 
the  French,  it  does  not  appear  that  these  southern  spirits 
are  of  necessity  small ;  still  less  have  those  sunny  nations 
any  embodied  system  of  fairyism.     Their  fairies  are  the 

*  See  an  excellent  article  in  the  "  Quarterly  Review,"  entitled  "  Antiquities 
of  Nursery  Literature."  Of  similar  merit  and  probably  by  the  same  hand 
(which  we  presume  to  be  that  of  Mr.  Southey)  is  another  on  the  popular  my- 
thology of  the  Middle  Ages.  We  cannot  refer  to  the  volume,  our  copy  happen- 
ing to  form  part  of  a  selection  which  we  made  some  years  ago  from  a  bundle  of 
the  two  reigning  Reviews.  [These  articles  are  in  volumes  21  and  22,  of  the 
"Quarterly  Review."  They  were  not  written  by  Southey,  at  least  they  are 
not  in  the  list  of  his  contributions  to  the  "  Review  "  published  in  his  biography. 
Ed.] 


FAIRIES.  87 

enchantresses  of  romance.  Little  spirits  appear  to  be  of  the 
country  of  little  people,  commented  on  by  their  larger 
neighbors.  It  is  true  that  little  shapes  and  shadows  are 
seen  in  all  countries  ;  but  the  general  tendency  of  fear  is 
to  magnify.  Particular  circumstances  must  have  created 
a  spirit  at  once  petty  and  formidable. 

We  are  of  opinion  with  the  author  of  the  "  Fairy  My- 
thology," that  the  petty  size  of  the  haunted  idols  of  antiq- 
uity argues  nothing  conclusive  respecting  the  size  of  the 
beings  they  represented.  Besides,  they  were  often  large 
as  well  as  small,  though  the  more  domestic  of  them,  or 
those  that  immediately  presided  over  the  hearth,  were  of 
a  size  suitable  to  convenience.  The  domestic  idols  of  all 
nations  have  probably  been  small,  for  the  like  reason. 

Whether  the  Lares  were  supposed  to  be  of  greater  stat- 
ure or  not  by  the  learned,  it  is  not  impossible  that  the 
constant  sight  of  the  little  images  generated  a  correspond- 
ing notion  of  the  originals.  The  best  argument  against 
the  smallness  of  these  divinities  is,  that  there  is  no  men- 
tion of  it  in  books ;  and  yet  the  only  passage  we  remem- 
ber to  have  met  with,  implying  any  determinate  notion  of 
stature,  is  in  favor  of  the  little.  We  here  give  it  out  of  an 
old  and  not  very  sage  author. 

"  After  the  victory  had  and  gotten  against  the  Gethes, 
the  Emperor  Domitian  caused  many  shewes  and  triumphs 
to  be  made,  in  signe  and  token  of  joy  ;  and  amongst  others 
hee  invited  publickly  to  dine  with  him,  all  sorts  of  persons, 
both  noble  and  unnoble,  but  especially  the  Senators  and 
Knights  of  Rome,  to  whom  he  made  a  feast  in  this  fashion. 
Hee  had  caused  a  certaine  house  of  al  sides  to  bee  painted 
black,  the  pavement  thereof  was  black,  so  likewise  were 
the  hangings,  or  seelings,  the  roofe  and  the  wals  also 
black ;  and  within  it  hee  had  prepared  a  very  low  room, 


88  FAIRIES. 

not  unlike  a  hollow  vault  or  cell,  ful  of  emptie  siedges  or 
seats.  Into  this  place  he  caused  the  Senators  and  Knights, 
his  ghests,  to  be  brought,  without  suffering  any  of  their 
pages  or  attendants  to  enter  in  with  them.  And  first  of 
all  he  caused  a  little  square  piller  to  be  set  near  to  every 
one  of  them,  upon  the  which  was  written  the  partie's  name 
sitting  next  it ;  by  which  there  hanged  also  a  lamp  burn- 
ing before  each  seat,  in  such  sort  as  is  used  in  sepulchers. 
After  this,  there  comes  into  this  melancholicke  and  dark 
place  a  number  of  yong  pages,  with  great  joy  and  merri- 
ment, starke  naked,  and  spotted  or  painted  all  over  with  a 
die  or  colour  as  blacke  as  inke  :  who,  resembling  these 
spirits  called  Manes,  and  such  like  idols,  did  leape  and 
skip  round  about  those  Senators  and  Knights,  who,  at 
this  unexpected  accident,  were  not  a  little  frighted  and 
afraid.  After  which,  those  pages  set  them  down  at  their 
feete,  against  each  of  them  one,  and  there  stayed,  whilste 
certaine  other  persons  (ordayned  there  of  purpose)  did 
execute  with  great  solemnity  all  those  ceremonies  that 
were  usually  fit  and  requisit  at  the  funeralls  and  exequies 
of  the  dead.  This  done,  there  came  in  others,  who 
brought  and  served  in,  in  black  dishes  and  platters,  divers 
meats  and  viands,  all  coloured  black,  in  such  sort  that 
there  was  not  any  one  in  the  place  but  was  in  great  doubt 
what  would  become  of  him,  and  thought  himself  utterly 
undone,  supposing  he  should  have  his  throat  cut,  onely  to 
give  pleasure  and  content  to  the  Emperour.  Besides, 
there  was  kept  the  greatest  silence  that  could  be  imagined. 
And  Domitian  himself  being  present,  did  nothing  else  but 
(without  ceasing)  speake  and  talke  unto  them  of  murfhers, 
death  and  tragedies.  In  the  end,  the  Emperour  having 
taken  his  pleasure  of  them  at  the  full,  he  caused  their 
pages  and  lackies,  which  attended  them  without  the  gates, 


FAIRIES.  89 

to  come  in  unto  them,  and  so  sent  them  away  home  to 
their  own  houses,  some  in  coches,  others  in  horselitters, 
guided  and  conducted  by  strange  and  unknown  persons, 
which  gave  them  as  great  cause  of  fear  as  their  former 
entertainment.  And  they  were  no  sooner  arrived  every- 
one to  his  own  house,  and  had  scant  taken  breath  from 
the  feare  they  had  conceived,  but  that  one  of  their  ser- 
vants came  to  tell  them,  that  there  were  at  the  gates  cer- 
taine  which  came  to  speake  with  them  from  the  Emperour. 
God  knows  how  this  message  made  them  stirre,  what  ex- 
cessive lamentations  they  made,  and  with  how  exceeding 
feares  they  were  perplexed  in  their  minds  ;  there  was  not 
any,  no,  not  the  hardiest  of  them  all,  but  thought  that  hee 
was  sent  for  to  be  put  to  death.  But  to  make  short,  those 
which  were  to  speake  with  them  from  the  Emperour,  came 
to  no  other  purpose  but  to  bring  them  either  a  little  piller 
of  silver,  or  some  such  like  vessel  or  piece  of  plate  (which 
had  beene  set  before  them  at  the  time  of  their  entertain- 
ment) ;  after  which,  everyone  of  them  had  also  sent  unto 
him,  for  a  present  from  the  Emperour,  one  of  those  pages 
"that  had  counterfeyted  those  Manes  or  Spirits  at  the  ban- 
quet, they  being  first  washed  and  cleansed  before  they 
were  presented  unto  them." 

Spirits  of  old  could  become  small ;  but  we  read  of  none 
that  were  essentially  little  except  the  fairies.  It  was  a 
Rabbinical  notion,  that  angelical  beings  could  render 
themselves  as  small  as  they  pleased ;  a  fancy  of  which 
Milton  has  not  scrupled  to  avail  himself  in  his  Pande- 
monium.*    It  was  proper  enough  to  the  idea  of  a  being 


*  Milton's  reduction  of  the  size  of  his  angels  is  surely  a  superfluity,  and 
diminishes  the  grandeur  of  their  meeting.  It  was  one  of  the  rare  instances 
(theology  apart)  in  which  his  learning  betrayed  his  judgment 


Cp  FAIRIES. 

made  of  thought  or  fire ;  though  one  would  think  it  was 
easier  to  make  it  expand  like  the  genius  when  let  loose, 
than  be  contracted  into  the  jar  or  vial  in  the  first  instance. 
But  if  spirits  went  in  and  out  of  crevices,  means,  it  was 
thought,  must  be  taken  to  enable  them  to  do  so ;  and  this 
may  serve  to  account  for  the  Fairies  themselves,  in  coun- 
tries where  other  circumstances  disposed  the  fancy  to  create 
them  :  but  all  the  attributes  of  the  little  northern  being, 
its  petty  stature,  its  workmanship,  its  superiority  to  men 
in  some  things,  its  simplicity  and  inferiority  in  others,  its 
supernatural  practices,  and  the  doubt  entertained  by  its 
believers  whether  it  is  in  the  way  of  salvation,  conspire, 
we  think,  to  render  the  opinion  of  M.  Mallet,  in  his 
"  Northern  Antiquities,"  extremely  probable  ;  viz.,  that 
the  character  of  the  fairy  has  been  modified  by  the  feel- 
ings entertained  by  our  Gothic  and  Celtic  ancestors  re- 
specting the  little  race  of  the  Laplanders,  a  people  whom 
they  despised  for  their  timid  peacefulness,  and  yet  could 
not  help  admiring  for  their  industry,  and  fearing  for  their 
magic. 

In  the  "  Edda,"  or  northern  "  Pantheon,"  the  dwarfs 
are  described  as  a  species  of  beings  bred  in  the  dust  of 
the  earth,  like  maggots  in  a  carcase.  "  It  was  indeed," 
says  the  Edda,  "  in  the  body  of  the  Giant  Ymer,  that  they 
were  engendered  and  first  began  to  move  and  live.  At 
first  they  were  only  worms  ;  but  by  order  of  the  gods  they 
at  length  partook  both  of  human  shape  and  reason  ;  nev- 
ertheless, they  always  dwell  in  subterranean  caverns  and 
among  rocks." 

Upon  this  passage,  M.  Mallet  says  (under  correction  of 
his  translator),  "We  may  discover  here  one  of  the  effects 
of  that  ignorant  prejudice,  which  hath  made  us  for  so 
many  years  regard  all  arts  and  handicrafts  as  the  occu- 


FAIRIES.  91 

pation  of  mean  people  and  slaves.  Our  Celtic  and  Gothic 
ancestors,  whether  Germans,  Scandinavians,  or  Gauls, 
imagining  there  was  something  magical,  and  beyond  the 
reach  of  man  in  mechanic  skill  and  industry,  could  scarcely 
believe  that  an  able  artist  was  one  of  their  own  species, 
or  descended  from  the  same  common  origin.  This,  it 
must  be  granted,  was  a  very  foolish  conceit ;  but  let  us 
consider  what  might  possibly  facilitate  the  entrance  of  it 
in  their  minds.  There  was  perhaps  some  neighboring 
people,  which  bordered  upon  the  Celtic  or  Gothic  tribes  ; 
and  which,  although  less  warlike  than  themselves,  and  much 
inferior  in  strength  and  stature,  might  yet  excel  them  in 
dexterity;  and  addicting  themselves  to  the  manual  arts, 
might  carry  on  commerce  with  them,  sufficiently  extensive 
to  have  the  fame  of  it  spread  pretty  far.  All  these  circum- 
stances will  agree  well  enough  with  the  Laplanders,  who 
are  still  as  famous  for  their  magic,  as  remarkable  for  the 
lowness  of  their  stature  ;  pacific  even  to  a  degree  of  cow- 
ardice, but  of  a  mechanic  industry  which  formerly  must 
have  appeared  very  considerable.  The  stories  that  were 
invented  concerning  -this  people,  passing  through  the 
mouths  of  so  many  ignorant  relators,  would  soon  acquire 
all  the  degrees  of  the  marvellous  of  which  they  were  sus- 
ceptible. Thus  the  dwarfs  soon  became  (as  all  know,  who 
have  dipped  but  a  little  into  the  ancient  romances)  the  forg- 
ers of  enchanted  armor,  upon  which  neither  swords  nor 
conjurations  could  make  any  impression.  They  were  pos- 
sessed of  caverns  full  of  treasure,  entirely  at  their  own 
disposal.  This,  to  observe  by  the  bye,  hath  given  birth  to 
one  of  the  cabalistic  doctrines,  which  is  perhaps  only  one 
of  the  branches  of  the  ancient  northern  theology.  As  the 
dwarfs  were  feeble,  and  but  of  small  courage,  they  were 
supposed  to  be  crafty,  full  of  artifice  and  deceit.    This, 


92  FAIRIES. 

which  in  the  old  romances  is  called  disloyalty,  is  the  char- 
acter always  given  of  them  in  those  fabulous  narratives. 
All  these  fancies  having  received  the  seal  of  time  and 
universal  consent,  could  be  no  longer  contested,  and  it 
was  the  business  of  the  poets  to  assign  a  fit  origin  for 
such  ungracious  beings.  This  was  done  in  their  pretended 
rise  from  the  dead  carcase  of  a  great  giant.  The  dwarfs 
at  first  were  only  the  maggots,  engendered  by  its  putre- 
faction :  afterwards  the  gods  bestowed  upon  them  under- 
standing and  cunning.  By  this  fiction  the  northern  warriors 
justified  their  contempt  of  them ;  and  at  the  same  time 
accounted  for  their  small  stature,  their  industry,  and  for 
their  supposed  propensity  for  inhabiting  caves  and  clefts 
of  the  rocks.  After  all,  the  notion  is  not  everywhere 
exploded,  that  there  are  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth  Fairies, 
or  a  kind  of  dwarfish  and  tiny  beings,  of  human  shape, 
remarkable  for  their  riches,  their  industry,  and  their  ma- 
levolence. In  many  countries  of  the  North,  the  people  are 
still  firmly  persuaded  of  their  existence.  In  Ireland,  at 
this  day,  the  good  folks  show  the  very  rocks  and  hills,  in 
which  they  maintain  that  there  are  swarms  of  these  small 
subterranean  men,  of  the  most  tiny  size,  but  most  delicate 
figures." 

When  Christianity  came  into  the  North,  these  little 
people,  who  had  formed  part  of  the  national  faith,  were 
converted  by  the  ordinary  process  into  devils  ;  but  the 
converts  could  never  heartily  enter  into  the  notion.  Ac- 
cordingly, in  spite  of  the  endeavors  of  the  clergy  (which  it 
is  said,  have  been  more  or  less  exerted  in  vain  to  this  day), 
a  sort  of  half-and-half  case  was  made  out  for  them  ;  and 
the  inhabitants  of  several  northern  countries  are  still  of 
opinion  that  elves  may  be  saved,  and  that  it  is  cruel  to  tell 
them  otherwise.    An  author,  quoted  in  the  "  Fairy  Mythol- 


FAIRIES.  93 

ogy  "  (vol.  i.  p.  136),  has  a  touching  theory  on  this  subject. 
We  are  informed  in  that  work,  "  that  the  common  people 
of  Sweden  and  thereabouts  believe  in  an  intermediate 
class  of  elves  who,  when  they  show  themselves,  have  a 
handsome  human  form,  and  the  idea  of  whom  is  connected 
with  a  deep  feeling  of  melancholy,  as  if  bewailing  a  half- 
quenched  hope  of  redemption."  —  "  Afzelius  is  of  opinion," 
says  a  note  on  the  passage,  "  that  the  superstition  on  this 
point  is  derived  from  the  time  of  the  introduction  of  Chris- 
tianity into  the  North  ;  and  expresses  the  sympathy  of  the 
first  converts  with  their  forefathers,  who  died  without  a 
knowledge  of  the  Redeemer,  and  lay  bound  in  heathen 
earth,  and  whose  unhappy  spirits  were  doomed  to  wander 
about  these  lower  regions,  or  sigh  within  their  mounds, 
till  the  great  day  of  redemption." 

Our  old  prose  writers  scarcely  ever  mention  the  Fairies 
without  letting  us  see  how  they  were  confounded  with 
devils,  and  yet  distinguished  from  them.  "  Terrestrial 
devils,"  says  Burton,  "  are  those  Lares,  Genii,  Faunes, 
Satyrs,  Wood-nymphs,  Foliots,  Fairies,  Robin  Good- 
fellows,  &c,  which  as  they  are  most  conversant  with  men, 
so  they  do  them  the  most  harm.  Some  think  it  was  they 
alone  that  kept  the  heathen  people  in  awe  of  old,  and 
had  so  many  idols  and  temples  erected  to  them.  Of  this 
range  was  Dagon  amongst  the  Philistines,  Bel  amongst  the 
Babylonians,  Astarte  amongst  the  Sidonians,  Baal  amongst 
the  Samaritans,  Isis  and  Osiris  amongst  the  Egyptians, 
&c.  Some  put  our  Fairies  into  this  rank,  which  have 
been  in  former  times  adored  with  much  superstition ; 
with  sweeping  their  houses,  and  setting  of  a  pail  of  water, 
good  victuals,  and  the  like  ;  and  then  they  should  not 
be  pinched,  but  find  money  in  their  shoes,  and  be  for- 
tunate in  their  enterprises.     These  are  they  that  dance 


94  FAIRIES. 

on  heaths  and  greens,  as  Lavater  thinks  with  Tritemius, 
and  as  Olaus  Magnus  adds,  leave  that  green  circle  which 
commonly  we  find  in  plains  and  fields,  which  others  hold 
to  proceed  from  a  meteor  falling,  or  some  accidental  rank- 
ness  of  the  ground,  so  Nature  sports  herself;  they  are 
sometimes  seen  by  old  women  and  children.  Hierom 
Pauli  in  his  description  of  the  city  of  Bercino  (in  Spain), 
relates  how  they  have  been  familiarly  seen  near  that  town, 
about  fountains  and  hills.  Giraldus  Cambrensis  gives 
instance  in  a  monk  in  Wales  that  was  so  deluded.  Para- 
celsus reckons  up  many  places  in  Germany,  where  they  do 
usually  walk  in  little  courts  some  two  feet  long." 

"  Our  mothers'  maids  have  so  frayed  us,"  says  gallant 
Reginald  Scot,  "with  Bul-beggars,  Spirits,  Witches,  Ur- 
chens.  Elves,  Hags,  Fairies,  Satyrs,  Pans,  Fauns,  Syrens, 
Kit  with  the  Canstick,  Tritons,  Centaurs,  Dwarfs,  Giants, 
Imps,  Calcars,  Conjurors,  Nymphs,  Changelings,  Incubus, 
Robin  Goodfellows,  the  Spoon,  the  Mare,  the  Man  in  the 
Oak,  the  Helwain,  the  Fire-drake,  the  Puckle,  Tom 
Thumb,  Hobgoblin,  Tom  Tumbler,  Boneless,*  and  other 
such  Bugs,  that  we  are  afraid  of  our  own  shadows  :  inso- 
much that  some  never  fear  the  devil  but  in  a  dark  night ; 


*  There  is  a  personage  in  Eastern  history,  who  appears  to  have  been  of  kin 
to  this  grim  phenomenon.  He  was  a  sorcerer  of  the  name  of  Setteiah.  He  is 
described  as  having  his  head  in  his  bosom,  and  as  being  destitute  of  bone  in 
every  part  of  his  body,  with  the  exception  of  his  skull  and  the  ends  of  his 
fingers.  It  was  only  when  he  was  in  a  rage  that  he  could  sit  up,  anger  having 
the  effect  of  swelling  him ;  but  he  could  at  no  time  be  made  to  stand  on  his 
feet.  When  it  was  necessary  to  move  him  from  place  to  place,  they  folded 
him  like  a  mantle  ;  and  when  there  was  occasion  to  consult  him  in  the  exercise 
of  his  profession,  it  was  the  practice  to  roll  him  backwards  and  forwards  on  the 
floor,  like  a  churning  skin,  till  the  answer  was  obtained.  See  Major  Price's 
"  Essay  towards  the  History  of  Arabia,  antecedent  to  the  birth  of  Moham- 
med," p.  196. 


FAIRIES..  95 

and  then  a  polled  sheep  is  a  perilous  beast,  and  many  times 
is  taken  for  our  father's  soul,  especially  in  a  churchyard, 
where  a  right  hardy  man  heretofore  scant  durst  pass  by 
night  but  his  hair  would  stand  upright."  * 

In  consequence  of  this  opinion  in  the  popular  Mythol- 
ogy, the  merry  and  human-like  Fairies  during  a  degrading 
portion  of  the  history  of  Europe,  were  made  tools  of,  in 
common  with  all  that  was  thought  diabolical,  to  worry  and 
destroy  thousands  of  miserable  people  ;  but  it  is  more  than 
pleasant, — it  is  deeply  interesting  to  an  observer,  to  see 
what  an  instinctive  impulse  there  is  in  human  beings  to 
resist  the  growth  of  the  worst  part  of  superstition,  and  vin- 
dicate nature  and  natural  piety.  Do  but  save  mankind  from 
taking  intolerance  for  God's  will,  and  exalting  the  impa- 
tience of  being  differed  with  into  a  madness,  and  you  may 
trust  to  the  natural  good  humor  of  the  best  of  their  opinions, 
for  as  favorable  a  view  as  possible  of  all  with  which  they 
can  sympathize.  Even  their  madness  in  that  respect  is 
but  a  perversion  of  their  natural  wish  to  be  liked  and 
agreed  with.  The  first  thing  that  men  found  out  in  behalf 
of  the  Fairies,  was  that  they  were  a  good  deal  like  them- 
selves ;  the  next  was  to  think  well  of  them  upon  the  whole, 
rather  than  ill ;  and  when  Reginald  Scot  and  others  helped 
us  out  of  this  cloud  of  folly  about  witchcraft,  the  Fairies 
became  brighter  than  before.  In  England  the  darker 
notions  of  them  almost  entirely  disappeared  with  the  big- 


*  The  list  of  the  unclean  spirits  in  Middleton's  tragicomedy  of  the  "Witch," 
is  closely  copied  from  the  passage  in  Reginald  Scot.  —  See  the  Speech  of 
Hecate. 

Urchins,  elves,  hags,  satires,  pans,  fauns,  silence. 
Kit  with  the  candlestick ;  tritons,  centaurs,  dwarfs,  imps. 
The  spoon,  the  mare,  the  man  i'  th'  oak,  the  hellwain,  the  fire-drake,  the 
puckle. 


96  FAIRIES. 

otries  in  Church  and  State  ;  and  at  the  call  of  the  poets, 
they  came  and  adorned  the  books  that  had  done  them 
service,  and  became  synonymous  with  pleasant  fancies. 


n. 

It  may  be  agreeable  to  follow  up  the  growth  of  this 
good-humored  light  in  something  like  chronological  order. 
The  old  romances  began  it.  Oberon,  the  beautiful  and 
beneficent,  afterwards  king  of  the  Fairies,  made  his  appear- 
ance very  early.  He  is  the  Elberich,  or  Rich  Elf,  of  the 
Germans,  and  became  Oberon,  with  a  French  termination, 
in  the  romance  of  "  Huon  de  Bourdeaux."  The  general 
reader  is  well  acquainted  with  him  through  the  abridg- 
ment of  the  work  by  the  Count  de  Tressan,  and  the  Oberon 
of  Wieland,  translated  by  Mr.  Sotheby.  He  is  a  tiny 
creature,  in  the  likeness  of  a  beautiful  child,  with  a  face  of 
exceeding  loveliness  ;  and  wears  a  crown  of  jewels.  His 
cap  of  invisibility,  common  to  all  the  Fairies  (which  is  the 
reason  why  they  must  not  lose  it),  became  famous  as  the 
Tarn-Kappe,  or  Daring  Cap,  othenvise  called  the  Nebel 
or  Mist-Cap,  and  the  Tarn-hut,  or  Hat  of  Daring.*  In 
the  poem  of  the  German  Voltaire,  he  possesses  the  horn 
which  sets  everybody  dancing.  He  and  his  brother 
dwarfs,  of  the  Northern  Mythology,  are  the  undoubted 


*  "  Tarn,  from  taren,  to  dare  (says  Dobenell),  because  they  gave  courage 
along  with  invisibility.  Kappe  is  properly  a  cloak,  though  the  tam-kappe  or 
nebel-kappe  is  generally  represented  as  a  cap  or  hat."  —  Fairy  Mythology, 
vol.  ii.  p.  4.  Perhaps  the  word  cape,  which  may  include  something  both  ol 
cap  and  cloak,  might  settle  their  apparent  contradiction.  Hood  implies  both  ; 
and  the  goblin  is  sometimes  called  Robin  Hood,  and  Hoodekin. 


FAIRIES.  97 

ancestors  of  the  fallen  but  illustrious  family  of  the  Tom 
Thumbs,  who  became  sons  of  tailors  and  victims  of  cows. 
Of  the  same  stock  are  the  Tom  Hickathrifts  and  Jack  the 
Giant  Killer,  if,  indeed,  they  be  not  the  gods  themselves, 
merged  into  the  Christian  children  of  their  former  worship- 
pers. Their  horrible  coats,  caps  of  knowledge,  swords  of 
sharpness,  and  shoes  of  swiftness,  are,  as  the  "  Quarterly 
Reviewer  "  observes,  "  all  out  of  the  great  heathen  treasu- 
ry." Thumb  looks  like  an  Avatarkin,  or  little  incarnation 
of  Thor.  Thor  was  the  stoutest  of  the  gods,  but  then  the 
gods  were  little  fellows  in  stature,  compared  with  the 
giants.  In  a  chapter  of  the  "  Edda,"  from  which  the  re- 
viewer has  given  an  amusing  extract,  the  giant  Skrymner 
rallies  Thor  upon  his  pretensions  and  size,  and  calls  him 
"  the  little  man."  *  As  the  god,  nevertheless,  was  more 
than  a  match  for  these  lubbers  of  the  skies,  his  worship- 
pers might  have  respected  the  name  in  honor  of  him ;  a 
panegyrical  raillery  not  unknown  to  other  mythologies, 
nor  unpractised  towards  the  "gods  of  the  earth." f     The 


*  In  the  agreeable  learning  which  the  reviewer  has  brought  to  bear  on 
this  subject,  in  the  "  Antiquities  of  Nursery  Literature,"  he  has  deprived  us 
of  our  old  friend  the  Giant  Cormoran,  who  turns  out  to  be' a  mistake  of  the 
printer's  devil  for  Corinoran,  "  the  CorinasUs,  probably,  of  Jeffery  of  Monmouth 
and  the  Brut."  However,  a  printer's  devil  has  a  right  to  speak  to  this  point ; 
and  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  Cormoran  ought  to  be  the  word,  both  on  ac- 
count of  the  devouring  magnitude  of  the  sound,  and  its  suitability  to  the 
brazen  tromp  of  a  Cornish  mouth  — 

"  Here's  the  valiant  Cornish  man, 
Who  slew  the  giant  Cormoran." 

Abraham  Cann  or  Polkinghorn  ought  to  speak  it ;  or  the  descendants  of  the 
Danish  hero  Kolson,  who  have  ora  rotunda  in  that  quarter. 

t  "  Little  Will,  the  scourge  of  France, 
No  godhead  but  the  first  of  men ;  "  — 

7 


98  FAIRIES. 

West  of  England,  it  may  be  observed,  is  a  great  Fairy 
country,  though  even  the  miners  and  their  natural  dark- 
ness have  not  been  able  to  obscure  the  sunnier  notions  of 
Fairy-land,  now  prevailing  in  that  quarter  as  much  as  any. 
The  Devonshire  Pixies  or  Pucksies  are  the  reigning  elves, 
and  are  among  the  gayest  and  most  good-humored  to  be 
met  with.  Mr.  Coleridge,  in  his  juvenile  poems,  has  put 
some  verses  into  their  mouths,  not  among  his  best,  but 
such  as  he  may  have  been  reasonably  loth  to  part  with. 
The  sea-air  which  he  breathed  at  a  distance,  and  "  the 
Pixies'  Parlour  "  (a  grotto  of  the  roots  of  trees,  in  which 
he  found  his  name  carved  by  the  hands  of  his  childhood), 
were  proper  nurseries  for  the  author  of  the  "  Ancient 
Mariner." 

Chaucer's  notion  of  Fairies  was  a  confused  mixture  of 
elves  and  romance-ladies,  and  Ovid,  and  the  Catholic 
diablerie.  We  had  taken  his  fairies  for  the  regular  little 
dancers  on  the  green  (induced  by  a  line  of  his  to  that  effect 
in  the  following  passage) ;  but  the  author  of  the  "  Fairy 
Mythology  "  has  led  us  to  form  a  different  opinion.  The 
truth  is,  that  a  book  in  Chaucer's  time  was  a  book,  and 
everything  to  be  found  in  those  rare  authorities  became  a 
sort  of  equal  religion  in  the  eyes  of  the  student.  Chaucer, 
in  one  of  his  verses,  has  brought  together  three  such  names 
as  never  met,  perhaps,  before  or  since,  — "  Samson, 
Turnus,  and  Socrates."  He  calls  Ovid's  Epistles  "  The 
Saint's  Legends  of  Cupid."  Seneca  and  St.  Paul  are  the 
same  grave  authorities  in  his  eyes  ;  in  short,  whatever 
was  written  was  a  scripture  :  something  clerkly,  and  what 


says  Prior,  speaking  of  William  the  3d,  and  rebuking,  at  the  same  time,  Boi- 
leau's  deifications  of  Louis.  So  Frederick  or  Napoleon,  or  both,  were  called 
by  their  soldiers  "  the  Little  Corporal." 


FAIRIES.  99 

a  monk  ought  to  have  written  if  he  could.  His  Lady  Ab- 
bess wears  a  brooch  exhibiting  a  motto  out  of  Virgil. 
Elves,  therefore,  and  Provencal  Enchantresses,  and  the 
nymphs  of  the  Metamorphoses,  and  the  very  devils  of 
the  Pope  and  St.  Anthony,  were  all  fellows  well  met,  all 
supernatural  beings,  living  in  the  same  remote  regions  of 
fancy,  and  exciting  the  gratitude  of  the  poet.  He  is  angry 
with  the  friars  for  making  more  solemn  distinctions,  and 
displacing  the  little  elves  in  their  walks  ;  and  he  runs  a 
capital  jest  upon  them,  which  has  become  famous. 

"  In  olde  dayes  of  the  kinge  Artour, 
Of  which  that  Britons  speke  gret  honour, 
All  was  this  land  full  filled  of  faerie  ; 
The  Elf-quene,  with  hire  joly  compagnie, 
Danced  ful  oft  in  many  a  grene  mede. 
This  was  the  old  opinion  as  I  rede  ; 
I  speke  of  many  hundred  yeres  ago  ; 
But  now  can  no  man  see  non  elves  mo, 
For  now  the  grete  charitee  and  prayeres 
Of  limitoures  and  other  holy  freres, 
That  serchen  every  land  and  every  streme, 
As  thikke  as  motes  in  the  sonne-beme, 
Blissing  halles,  chambres,  kichenes,  and  boures, 
Citees  and  burghes,  castles  highe  and  toures, 
Thropes  and  bemes,  shepeness  and  dairies, 
This  maketh  that  ther  ben  no  faeries ; 
For  ther  as  wont  to  walken  was  an  elf, 
Ther  walketh  now  the  limitour  himself, 
In  undermeles  and  in  morwenings, 
And  sayth  his  matines  and  his  holy  thinges, 
As  he  goth  in  his  limitation. 
Women  may  now  go  safely  up  and  doun ; 
In  every  bush  and  under  every  tree, 
Ther  is  non  other  incubus  but  he." 

In  another  poem,  we  meet  with  Pluto  and  Proserpine  as 
the  King  and  Queen  of  Faerie  ;  where  they  sing  and  dance 
about  a  well,  enjoying  themselves  in  a  garden,  and  quot- 


IOO  FAIRIES. 

ing  Solomon.  The  "ladies  "  that  wait  upon  them  are  the 
damsels  that  accompanied  Proserpine  in  the  vale  of  Enna, 
when  she  was  taken  away  by  his  Majesty  in  his  "griesly 
cart."  This  is  a  very  different  cart  from  a  chariot  made 
of  the  gristle  of  grasshoppers. 

The  national  intellect,  which  had  been  maturing  like  an 
oak,  from  the  time  of  Wickliffe,  drawing  up  nutriment 
from  every  ground,  and  silently  making  the  weakest  things 
contribute  to  its  strength,  burst  forth  at  last  into  flowers 
and  fruit  together,  in  the  noonday  of  Shakespeare.  A 
shower  of  fairy  blossoms  was  the  ornament  of  its  might. 
Spenser's  fairies  are  those  of  Romance,  varied  with  the 
usual  readings  of  his  own  fancy ;  but  Shakespeare,  the 
popular  poet  of  the  world,  took  the  little  elfin  globe  in 
his  hand,  as  he  had  done  the  great  one,  and  made  it  a 
thing  of  joy  and  prettiness  for  ever.  Since  then  the  fairies 
have  become  part  of  a  poet's  belief,  and  happy  ideas  of 
them  have  almost  superseded  what  remains  of  a  darker 
creed  in  the  minds  of  the  people.  The  profound  playful- 
ness of  Shakespeare's  wisdom,  which  humanized  every 
thing  it  touched,  and  made  it  know  its  own  value,  found 
out  the  soul  of  an  activity,  convertible  into  good,  in  the 
restlessness  of  mischief;  and  Puck,  or  the  elf  malicious, 
became  jester  in  the  court  of  Oberon  the  Good  Fairy,  —  his 
servant  and  his  help.  The  "  Elves  "  in  the  Tempest  are 
rather  the  elemental  spirits  of  the  Rosicrucians,  con- 
founded both  with  classical  and  popular  mythology.  It 
is  in  the  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream "  that  the  true 
fairies  are  found,  as  they  ought  to  be  ;  and  there  amidst 
bowers  and  moonlight,  will  we  indulge  ourselves  awhile 
with  their  company.  We  make  no  apology  to  the  reader 
for  our  large  quotations.  They  have  been  repeated  many 
times  and  lately  on  the  present  subject ;  yet  we  should 


FAIRIES.  IOI 

rather  have  to  apologize  for  the  omission,  considering 
how  excellent  they  are.  To  add  what  novelty  we  could,  or 
rather  to  make  our  quotations  as  peculiar  to  our  work  as 
possible,  we  had  made  up  our  minds  to  bring  together  all 
the  passages  in  question  out  of  Shakespeare's  drama,  as 
far  as  they  could  be  separated  from  other  matter,  and 
present  them  to  our  readers  under  the  title  of  a  Fairy 
Play ;  but  we  began  to  fear  that  the  profane  might  have 
some  color  of  reason  for  complaining  of  us,  and  accusing 
us  of  an  intention  to  swell  our  pages.  We  have,  there- 
fore, confined  ourselves  to  selections  which  are  put  under 
distinct  heads,  so  as  to  form  a  kind  of  gallery  of  Fairy 
pictures.  We  shall  take  the  liberty  of  commenting  as  we 
go,  even  if  our  remarks  are  called  forth  on  points  not  im- 
mediately belonging  to  the  subject.  It  is  not  easy  to  read 
a  great  poet,  and  not  indulge  in  exclamations  of  fondness. 
Besides,  there  is  something  fairy-like  in  having  one's  way. 

EMPLOYMENT  OF  A  DAMSEL  OF  THE   FAJRY   COURT. 

Fairy.    Over  hill,  over  dale, 

Thorough  bush,  thorough  brier, 
Over  park,  over  pale, 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire, 
I  do  wander  every  where, 
Swifter  than  the  moon's  sphere ; 
And  I  serve  the  fairy  queen, 
To  dew  her  orbs  upon  the  green : 
The  cowslips  tall  her  pensioners  be  ; 
In  their  gold  coats  spots  you  see  ; 
Those  be  rubies,  fairy  favours : 
In  those  freckles  live  their  savours ; 
I  must  go  seek  some  dew-drops  here, 
And  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear. 

Flowers,  in  the  proper  fairy  spirit,  which  plays  betwixt 
sport  and  wisdom  with  the  profoundest  mysteries  of  na- 


102  FAIRIES. 

ture,  are  here  made  alive,  and  turned  into  fantastic  ser- 
vants. 

In  fairy-land,  whatever  may  be,  is.  We  may  gather 
from  this  and  another  passage  in  Cymbeline,  that  Shake- 
speare was  fond  of  cowslips,  and  had  observed  their  graces 
with  delight.  It  is  a  delicate  fancy  to  suppose  that  those 
ruby  spots  contain  the  essence  of  the  flower's  odor,  and 
were  presents  from  their  ruling  sprite.  And  the  hanging 
a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear  (besides  the  beauty  of  the 
line)  seems  to  pull  the  head  of  the  tall  pensioner  sideways, 
and  make  him  quaintly  conscious  of  his  new  favor. 

BOWER  OF  QUEEN   TITANIA. 

I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Where  ox-lips  and  the  nodding  violet  grows ; 
Quite  over-canopied  with  lush  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk-roses,  and  with  eglantine  ; 
There  sleeps  Titania,  some  time  of  the  night, 
Lull'd  in  these  flowers  with  dances  and  delight 

What  beautiful  lines  are  these  ?  Observe  in  the  next 
the  goggle-eyed  owl,  who  is  nightly  astonished  at  the 
fairies,  as  if  amazement  were  his  business  ;  and  also  the 
childlike  warning  to  the  snails  and  daddy  longlegs  to 
keep  aloof. 

THE  QUEEN    IN    HER   BOWER. 

Tita.     Come,  now  a  roundel,  and  a  fairy  song ; 

Then,  for  the  third  part  of  a  minute,  hence ; 
Some  to  kill  cankers  in  the  musk-rose  buds ; 
Some  war  with  rear-mice  for  their  leathern  wings, 
To  make  my  small  elves  coats ;  and  some  keep  back 
The  clamorous  owl,  that  nightly  hoots  and  wonders 
At  our  quaint  spirits :  sing  me  now  asleep ; 
Then  to  your  offices,  and  let  me  rest 


ist  Fairy.     You  spotted  snakes,  with  double  tongue, 
Thorny  hedge-hogs,  be  not  seen ; 


FAIRIES.  IO3 

Newts  and  blind-worms  do  no  wrong ; 
Come  not  near  our  fairy  queen. 

C/iorus.     Philomel,  with  melody, 

Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby ; 
Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby ;  lulla,  lulla,  lullaby ; 
Never  harm,  nor  spell  nor  charm, 
Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh, 
So,  good  night,  with  lullaby. 

2d  Fairy.    Weaving  spiders,  come  not  here ; 

Hence,  you  long-legged  spinners,  hence ; 
Beetles  black,  approach  not  near ; 
Worm,  nor  snail,  do  no  offence. 

CJwrus.     Philomel,  with  melody,  &c 

vst  Fairy.     Hence,  away !  now  all  is  well. 
One,  aloof,  stand  sentinel. 

TRICKS  OF  THE   FAIRY   KING  ON   HIS  QUEEN. 

Titania,  by  practice  of  Oberon,  falls  in  love  with  a 
weaver,  on  whom  Puck  has  clapped  an  ass's  head.  Enter 
Puck  with  him  and  some  others.  Imagine  the  weaver  to 
be  Liston. 

Quince.  O  monstrous !  O  strange  !  we  are  haunted.  Pray,  masters !  fly, 
masters  !  help  1  [Exeunt  Clowns. 

Puck.     I'll  follow  you,  I'll  lead  you  about,  around, 
Through  bog,  through  bush,  through  brake,  through  brier ; 
Sometime  a  horse  I'll  be,  sometime  a  hound, 
A  hog,  a  headless  bear,  sometime  a  fire, 
And  neigh,  and  bark,  and  grunt,  and  roar,  and  burn, 
Like  horse,  hound,  hog,  bear,  fire,  at  every  turn.  [Exit. 

Bot.  Why  do  they  run  away?  this  is  a  knavery  of  them  to  make  me 
afeard. 

Re-enter  Snout. 

Snout.    O  Bottom,  thou  art  changed  1    What  do  I  see  on  thee  ? 

[Exit  Snout. 

Bot.    What  do  you  see?    You  see  an  ass's  head  of  your  own,  do  you? 
Re-enter  Quince. 

Quin.    Bless  thee,  Bottom  !  bless  thee  !  thou  art  translated.  [Exit. 

Bot.     I  see  their  knavery :  this  is  to  make  an  ass  of  me,  to  fright  me  if  they 


104  FAIRIES. 

could.     But  I  will  not  stir  from  this  place,  do  what  they  can :  I  will  walk  up 
and  down  here,  and  I  will  sing,  that  they  shall  hear  I  am  not  afraid. 

The  ousel-cock,  so  black  of  hue, 

With  orange-tawny  bill ; 
The  throstle  with  his  note  so  true, 

The  wren  with  little  quill. 

Tita.    What  angel  wakes  me  from  my  flowery  bed? 
Bot.    The  finch,  the  sparrow,  and  the  lark, 

The  plain-song  cuckoo  gray, 
Whose  note  full  many  a  man  doth  mark, 

And  dares  not  answer  nay ; 

for,  indeed,  who  would  set  his  wit  to  so  foolish  a  bird?  —  who  would  give  a  bird 
the  lie,  though  he  cry  cuckoo  never  so  ? 

Tita.     I  pray  thee,  gentle  mortal,  sing  again : 
Mine  ear  is  much  enamoured  of  thy  note, 
So  is  mine  eye  enthralled  to  thy  shape  ; 
And  thy  fair  virtue's  force  perforce  doth  move  me, 
On  the  first  view,  to  say,  to  swear,  I  love  thee. 

Bot.  Methinks,  mistress,  you  should  have  little  reason  for  that:  and  yet, 
to  say  the  truth,  reason  and  love  keep  little  company  together  now-a-days :  the 
more  the  pity,  that  some  honest  neighbours  will  not  make  them  friends.  Nay, 
I  can  gleek  upon  the  occasion. 

Tita.    Thou  art  as  wise  as  thou  art  beautiful. 

Bot.  No  so,  neither :  but  if  I  had  wit  enough  to  get  out  of  this  wood,  I  have 
enough  to  serve  mine  own  turn. 

Tita.    Out  of  this  wood  do  not  desire  to  go ; 

Thou  shalt  remain  here  whether  thou  wilt  or  no. 
I  am  a  spirit  of  no  common  rate ; 
The  summer  still  doth  tend  upon  my  state, 
And  I  do  love  thee :  therefore,  go  with  me ; 
I'll  give  thee  fairies  to  attend  on  thee  ; 
And  they  shall  fetch  thee  jewels  from  the  deep, 
And  sing,  while  thou  on  pressed  flowers  dost  sleep. 
And  I  will  purge  thy  mortal  grossness  so, 
That  thou  shalt  like  an  airy  spirit  go. 
Peas-blossom  I  Cobweb  1  Moth !  and  Mustard-seed  1 
jst  Fairy.     Ready. 
zd  Fairy.  And  I. 

3d  Fairy.  And  I. 

4th  Fairy.  Where  shall  we  go  ? 

Tita.    Be  kind  and  courteous  to  this  gentleman ; 
Hop  in  his  walks  and  gambol  in  his  eyes; 


FAIRIES.  IO5 

Feed  him  with  apricocks,  and  dewberries ; 
With  purple  grapes,  green  figs,  and  mulberries ; 
The  honey-bags  steal  from  the  humble-bees, 
And,  for  night-tapers,  crop  their  waxen  thighs, 
And  light  them  at  the  fiery  glow-worm's  eyes, 
To  have  my  love  to  bed,  and  to  arise ; 
And  pluck  the  wings  from  painted  butterflies, 
To  fan  the  moonbeams  from  his  sleeping  eyes : 
Nod  to  him,  elves,  and  do  him  courtesies. 
ist  Fairy.     Hail  mortal ! 
id  Fairy.  Hail ! 

3d  Fairy.  Hail  I 

4/A  Fairy.  Hail ! 

Bot.    I  cry  your  worship's  mercy,  heartily.     I  beseech  your  worship's 
name. 

Cob.    Cobweb. 

Bot.     I  shall  desire  of  you  more  acquaintance,  good  Master  Cobweb :  if  I 
cut  my  finger  I  shall  make  bold  with  you.    Your  name,  honest  gentleman? 
Peas.     Peas-blossom. 

Bot.     I  pray  you  to  remember  me  to  Mistress  Squash,  your  mother,  and  to 
Master  Peascod,  your  father.     Good  Master  Peas-blossom,  I  shall  desire  of 
you  more  acquaintance  too.    Your  name,  I  beseech  you,  sir  ? 
Mus.     Mustard-seed. 

Bot.    Good  Master  Mustard-seed,  I  know  your  patience  well :  that  same 
cowardly,  giant-like,  ox-beef  hath  devoured  many  a  gentleman  of  your  house : 
I  promise  you,  your  kindred  hath  made  my  eyes  water  ere  now.     I  desire  of 
you  more  acquaintance,  good  Master  Mustard-seed. 
Tita.     Come  wait  upon  him ;  lead  him  to  my  bower. 
The  moon,  methinks,  looks  with  a  wat'ry  eye ; 
And  when  she  weeps,  weeps  every  little  flower, 
Lamenting  some  enforced  chastity. 
Tie  up  love's  tongue,  and  bring  him  silently. 

The  luxurious  reduplication  of  the  rhyme  in  this  exquis- 
ite passage,  has  been  noticed  by  Mr.  Hazlitt 
Again,  in  act  the  fourth  :  — 

Tita.    Come,  sit  thee  down  upon  this  flow'ry  bed, 

While  I  thy  amiable  cheeks  do  coy, 

And  stick  musk-roses  in  thy  sleek  smooth  head, 

And  kiss  thy  fair  large  ears,  my  gentle  joy. 
Bot.    Where's  Peas-blossom? 
Peas.    Ready. 


Io6  FAIRIES. 

Bot.     Scratch  my  head,  Peas-blossom.     Where's  Monsieur  Cobweb  ? 

Cob.     Ready. 

Bot.  Monsieur  Cobweb ;  good  Monsieur,  get  your  weapons  in  your  hands, 
and  kill  me  a  red-hipp'd  humble-bee  on  the  top  of  a  thistle ;  and  good  Mon- 
sieur, bring  me  the  honey-bag.  Do  not  fret  yourself  too  much  in  the  action, 
Monsieur ;  and,  good  Monsieur,  have  a  care  the  honey-bag  break  not ;  I  would 
be  loth  to  have  you  overflow  with  a  honey-bag,  Signor.  Where's  Monsieur 
Mustard-seed  ? 

Mus.     Ready. 

Bot.  Give  me  your  neif,  Monsieur  Mustard-seed.  Pray  you,  leave  your 
courtesy,  good  Monsieur. 

Mus.     What's  your  will  ? 

Bot.  Nothing,  good  Monsieur,  but  to  help  Cavalero  Peas-blossom  to  scratch. 
I  must  to  the  barber's,  Monsieur ;  for  methinks  I  am  marvellous  hairy  about  the 
face :  and  I  am  such  a  tender  ass,  if  my  hair  do  but  tickle  me,  I  must  scratch. 

Tita.     What,  wilt  thou  hear  some  music,  my  sweet  love  ? 

Bot.  I  have  a  reasonable  good  ear  in  music :  let  us  have  the  tongs  and  the 
bones. 

Tita.     Or  say,  sweet  love,  what  thou  desir'st  to  eat. 

Bot.  Truly  a  peck  of  provender ;  I  could  munch  your  good  dry  oats.  Me- 
thinks I  have  a  great  desire  to  a  bottle  of  hay ;  good  hay,  sweet  hay,  hath  no 
fellow. 

Tita.     I  have  a  venturous  fairy  that  shall  seek 

The  squirrel's  hoard,  and  fetch  thee  new  nuts. 

Bot.  I  had  rather  have  a  handful  or  two  of  dried  peas.  But,  I  pray  you, 
let  none  of  your  people  stir  me ;  I  have  an  exposition  of  sleep  come  upon  me. 

Tita.     Sleep  thou,  and  I  will  wind  thee  in  my  arms. 

Fairies,  begone,  and  be  always  away.  [Exeunt  fairies. 

So  doth  the  wood-bine  the  sweet  honey-suckle 
Gently  entwist,  —  the  female  ivy  so 
Enrings  the  barky  fingers  of  the  elm. 
O,  how  I  love  thee  !  how  I  dote  on  thee  1 

THE   FAIRIES   BLESS   A   HOUSE   AT  NIGHT-TIME. 

Enter  Puck. 
Puck.     Now  the  hungry  lion  roars, 

And  the  wolf  behowls  the  moon  ; 
Whilst  the  heavy  ploughman  snores, 

All  with  weary  task  fordone. 
Now  the  wasted  brands  do  glow, 

Whilst  the  screech-owl,  screeching  loud, 
Puts  the  wretch,  that  lies  in  woe, 
In  remembrance  of  a  shroud. 


FAIRIES.  I07 

Now  it  is  the  time  of  night, 

That  the  graves,  all  gaping  wide, 
Every  one  lets  forth  his  sprite, 

In  the  church-way  paths  to  glide : 
And  we  fairies  that  do  run 

By  the  triple  Hecate's  team, 
From  the  presence  of  the  sun, 

Following  darkness  like  a  dream, 
Now  are  frolick ;  not  a  mouse 
Shall  disturb  this  hallow'd  house ; 
I  am  sent,  with  broom,  before, 
To  sweep  the  dust  behind  the  door. 

Enter  Oberon  and  Titania  with  their  train. 

Oberon.    Through  this  house  give  glimmering  light, 

By  the  dead  and  drowsy  fire : 

Every  elf,  and  fairy  sprite, 
Hop  as  light  as  bird  from  brier ; 

And  this  ditty,  after  me, 

Sing  and  dance  it  trippingly. 
Tita.  _  First,  rehearse  this  song  by  rote, 

To  each  word  a  warbling  note, 

Hand  in  hand,  with  fairy  grace, 

Will  we  sing,  and  bless  this  place. 

SONG  AND   DANCE. 

Oberon.     Now,  until  the  break  of  day, 

Through  this  house  each  fairy  stray. 

To  the  best  bride-bed  will  we, 

Which  by  us  shall  blessed  be ; 

And  the  issue,  there  create, 

Ever  shall  be  fortunate. 

So  shall  all  the  couples  three 

Ever  true  in  loving  be : 

And  the  blots  of  nature's  hand 

Shall  not  in  their  issue  stand : 

Never  mole,  hare-lip,  nor  scar, 

Nor  mark  prodigious,  such  as  are 

Despised  in  nativity, 

Shall  upon  their  children  be. 

With  this  field-dew  consecrate, 

Every  fairy  take  his  gait  1 


ro8  FAIRIES. 

And  each  several  chamber  bless, 
Through  this  palace  with  sweet  peace : 
E'er  shall  it  in  safety  rest, 
And  the  owner  of  it  be  blest. 

Trip  away ; 

Make  no  stay ; 
Meet  me  all  by  break  of  day. 

It  is  with  difficulty  that  in  these,  and  indeed  in  all  our 
quotations,  we  refrain  from  marking  particular  passages. 
One  longs  to  vent  one's  feelings,  like  positive  grappling 
with  the  lines  ;  and  besides,  we  have  the  temptation  of 
the  reader's  company  to  express  our  admiration.  But  we 
fear  to  do  injustice  to  what  we  should  leave  unmarked  ; 
and  indeed  to  be  thought  impatient  with  the  others.  Luck- 
ily where  all  is  beautiful,  the  choice  would  often  be  difficult, 
if  we  stopped  to  make  any  ;  and  if  we  did  not,  we  should 
be  printing  nothing  but  italics. 

Queen  Mab,  as  the  author  of  the  "Fairy  Mythology" 
remarks,  has  certainly  dethroned  Titania  ;  but  we  cannot 
help  thinking  that  both  he,  and  the  poets  who  have  helped 
to  dethrone  her,  are  in  the  wrong  ;  and  that  Voss  is  right, 
when  he  rejects  the  royalty  of  both  monosyllables.  Queen 
or  quean  is  old  English  for  woman,  and  is  still  applied  to 
females  in  an  ill  sense.  Now  Mab  is  the  fairies'  midwife, 
plebeian  by  office,  indiscriminate  in  her  visits,  and  descend- 
ing so  low  as  to  make  elf-locks,  and  plait  the  manes  of 
horses.  We  have  little  doubt  that  she  is  styled  queen  in 
an  equivocal  sense,  between  a  mimicry  of  state  and  some- 
thing abusive ;  and  that  the  word  Mab  comes  from  the 
same  housewife  origin  as  Mop,  Moppet,  and  Mod-Cap. 
The  a  was  most  likely  pronounced  broad  ;  as  in  Mall  for 
Moll,  Malkin  for  Maukin  ;  and  Queen  Mab  is  perhaps  the 
quean  in  the  Mob-cap,  —  the  midwife  riding  in  her  chariot, 
but  still  vulgar ;  and  acting  some  such  part  with  regard  to 


FAIRIES.  IO9 

fairies  and  to  people's  fancies,  as  one  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
fanciful  personages  (we  forget  her  name)  does  to  flesh  and 
blood  in  the  novel.* 

The  passages  in  Ben  Jonson  regarding  fairies  want 
merit  enough  to  be  quoted ;  not  that  he  had  not  a  fine 
fancy,  but  that  in  this  instance,  as  in  some  others,  he  over- 
laid it  with  his  book-reading,  probably  in  despair  of  equal- 
ling Shakespeare.  The  passages  quoted  from  him  by  the 
author  of  the  "  Fairy  Mythology,"  rather  out  of  respect 
than  his  usual  good  taste,  are  nothing  better  than  so 
many  commonplaces,  in  which  the  popular  notions  are  set 
forth.  There  is,  however,  one  striking  exception,  out  of 
the  "  Sad  Shepherd,"  — 

"There,  in  the  stocks  of  trees,  white  fays  do  dwell, 
And  span-long  elves,  that  dance  about  a  pool 
With  each  a  little  changeling  in  their  arms." 

This  is  very  grim,  and  to  the  purpose.  The  changeling, 
supernaturally  diminished,  adds  to  the  ghastliness,  as  if 
born  and  completed  before  its  time. 

For  our  next  quotation,  which  is  very  pleasant,  we  are 
indebted,  amongst  our  numerous  obligations,  to  the  same 
fairy  historian.  There  is  probably  a  good  deal  of  treasure 
of  the  same  sort  in  the  rich  mass  of  Old  English  Poetry ; 
but  the  truth  is,  we  dare  not  trust  ourselves  with  the 
search.  We  have  already  a  tendency  to  exceed  the  limits 
assigned  us  ;  and  on  subjects  like  these  we  should  be 
tolled  on  from  one  search  to  another,  as  if  Puck  had  taken 
the  shape  of  a  bee.  The  passage  we  speak  of  is  in  Ran- 
dolph's pastoral  of  "  Amyntas,  or  the  Impossible  Dowry." 
A  young  rogue  of  the  name  of  Dorylas  "  makes  a  fool  of 


*  The  White  Lady  of  Avenel,  in  the  Monastery,  was  undoubtedly  the  per- 
sonage Hunt  had  in  his  mind.  —  Ed. 


IIO  FAIRIES. 

a  •  fantastique  sheapherd,'  Jocastus,  by  pretending  to  be 
Oberon,  King  of  Fairy."  In  this  character,  having  pro- 
vided a  proper  retinue  (whom  we  are  to  suppose  to  be 
boys)  he  proposes  a  fairy  husband  for  Jocastus's  daughter, 
and  obliges  him  by  plundering  his  orchard.  We  take  the 
former  of  these  incidents  for  granted,  from  the  context, 
for  we  have  not  seen  the  original.  Dorylas  appears  some- 
times to  act  in  his  own  character,  and  sometimes  in  that 
of  Oberon.  In  the  former  the  following  dialogue  takes 
place  between  him  and  his  wittol,  descriptive  of 

a  fairy's  jointure. 
Thestylis.     But  what  estate  shall  he  assure  upon  me  ? 
Jocastus.    A  royal  jointure,  all  in  Fairy  land. 
•  •*•*#*** 

Dorylas  knows  it. 

A  curious  park  — 
Dorylas.     Paled  round  about  with  pickteeth. 
Joe.     Besides  a  house  made  all  of  mother  of  pearl. 

An  ivory  tennis-court. 
Dor.    A  nutmeg  parlour. 
Joe.    A  sapphire  dairy-room. 
Dor.    A  ginger  hall. 
Joe.    Chambers  of  agate. 
Dor.     Kitchens  all  of  crystal. 
A  m.    O,  admirable  !    This  it  is  for  certain. 
Joe.     The  jacks  are  gold. 
Dor.    The  spits  are  Spanish  needles. 
Joe.    Then  there  be  walks  — 
Dor.    Of  amber. 
Joe.    Curious  orchards  — 
Dor.    That  bear  as  well  in  winter  as  in  summer. 
Joe.    'Bove  all,  the  fish-ponds,  every  pond  is  full  — 
Dor.    Of  nectar.     Will  this  please  you?    Every  grove 
Stored  with  delightful  birds. 

Dorylas  proceeds  to  help  himself  to  the  farmer's  apples, 
his  brother  rogues  assisting  him.  This  license,  it  must 
be  owned,  is  royal.     But  what  is  still  pleasanter,  we  are 


FAIRIES.  Ill 

here  presented  for  the  first  time  with  some  fairy  Latin, 
and  very  good  it  is,  quaint  and  pithy.  The  Neapolitan 
Robin  Goodfellow,  who  goes  about  in  the  shape  of  a  little 
monk,  might  have  written  it. 

FAIRIES  ROBBING  AN   ORCHARD,  AND  SINGING  LATIN. 

Dor.     How  like  you  now  my  grace  ?    Is  not  my  countenance 
Royal  and  full  of  majesty?    Walk  not  I 
Like  the  young  prince  of  pigmies?    Ha  !  my  knaves, 
We'll  fill  our  pockets.     Look,  look  yonder,  elves ; 
Would  not  yon  apples  tempt  a  better  conscience 
Than  any  we  have,  to  rob  an  orchard  ?    Ha ! 
Fairies,  like  nymphs  with  child,  must  have  the  thing* 
They  long  for.     You  sing  here  a  fairy  catch 
In  that  strange  tongue  I  taught  you,  while  ourself 
Do  climb  the  trees.     Thus  princely  Oberon 
Ascends  his  throne  of  state. 

Elves.     Nos  beata  Fauni  proles, 

Quibus  non  est  magna  moles, 

Quamvis  lunam  incolamus, 

Hortos  ssepe  frequentamus. 

Furto  cuncta  magis  bella, 
Furto  dulcior  puella, 
Furto  omnia  decora, 
Furto  poma  dulciora. 

Cum  mortales  lecto  jacent, 
Nobis  poma  noctu  placent ; 
Ilia  tamen  sunt  ingrata, 
Nisi  furto  sint  parata. 

We  the  Fairies  blithe  and  antic, 
Of  dimensions  not  gigantic, 
Though  the  moonshine  mostly  keep  us, 
Oft  in  orchards  frisk  and  peep  us. 

Stolen  sweets  are  always  sweeter ; 
Stolen  kisses  much  completer ; 
Stolen  looks  are  nice  in  chapels ; 
Stolen,  stolen  be  your  apples. 


112  FAIRIES. 

When  to  bed  the  world  are  bobbing, 
Then's  the  time  for  orchard  robbing  ; 
Yet  the  fruit  were  scarce  worth  pealing, 
Were  it  not  for  stealing,  stealing. 

Jocastus's  man  Bromio  prepares  to  thump  these  pre- 
tended elves,  but  the  master  is  overwhelmed  by  the  con- 
descension of  the  princely  Oberon  in  coming  to  his 
orchard,  when  — 

His  Grace  had  orchards  of  his  own  more  precious 
Than  mortals  can  have  any. 

The  elves  therefore,  by  permission,  pinched  the  officious 
servant,  singing,  — 

Quoniam  per  te  violamur, 
Ungues  hie  experiamur ; 
Statim  dices  tibi  datam 
Cutem  valde  variatam. 

Since  by  thee  comes  profanation, 
Taste  thee,  Io  1  scarification. 
Noisy  booby  1  in  a  twinkling 
Thou  hast  got  a  pretty  crinkling. 

Finally,  when  the  coast  is  clear,  Oberon  cries,  — 

So  we  are  clean  got  off:  come,  noble  peers 
Of  Fairy,  come,  attend  our  royal  Grace. 
Let's  go  and  share  our  fruit  with  our  Queen  Mab 
And  the  other  dairy-maids :  where  of  this  theme 
We  will  discourse  amidst  our  capes  and  cream. 

Cum  tot  poma  habeamus, 
Triumphos  lceti  jam  canamus : 
Faunos  ego  credam  ortos, 
Tantum  ut  frequentent  hortos. 

I,  domum,  Oberon,  ad  illas, 
Qua?  nos  manent  nunc  ancillas, 
Quarem  osculemur  sinum, 
Inter  poma,  lac,  et  vinum. 


FAIRIES.  1 13 

Now  for  such  a  stock  of  apples, 
Laud  me  with  the  voice  of  chapels. 
Fays,  methinks,  were  gotten  solely 
To  keep  orchard-robbing  holy. 

Hence  then,  hence,  and  let's  delight  us 
With  the  maids  whose  creams  invite  us, 
Kissing  them,  like  proper  fairies, 
All  amidst  their  fruits  and  dairies. 


III. 

Next  comes  Drayton,  a  proper  fairy  poet,  with  an  infinite 
luxury  of  little  fancies.  Nor  was  he  incapable  of  the 
greater  ;  but  he  would  not  blot ;  and  so  took  wisely  to  the 
little  and  capricious.  His  "  Nymphidia,"  a  story  of  fairy 
intrigue,  is  too  long  and  too  unequal  to  be  given  entire  ; 
but  it  cuts  out  into  little  pictures  like  a  penny  sheet.  You 
might  border  a  paper  with  his  stanzas,  and  read  them 
instead  of  grotesque.  His  fairy  palace  is  roofed  with  the 
skins  of  bats,  gilded  with  moonshine; — a  fancy  of  ex- 
quisite fitness  and  gusto.  There  ought  to  be  tyfie  by  itself, 
— pin-points,  or  hieroglyphical  dots,  —  in  which  to  set 
forth  the  following 

NAMES  OF  FAIRIES. 

Hop,  and  Mop,  and  Drop  so  clear, 
Pip,  and  Trip,  and  Skip,  that  were 
To  Mab,  the  sovereign  lady  dear. 

Her  special  maids  of  honour ; 
Fib,  and  Tib,  and  Pinch,  and  Pin, 
Tick,  and  Quick,  and  Fill  and  Fin, 
Tit,  and  Wit,  and  Wap,  and  Win, 

The  train  that  wait  upon  her. 

Oberon's  queen  (who  is  here  called  Mab)  has  made  an 
assignation  with  Pigwiggen,  a  great  fairy  knight.     The 
8 


1 14  FAIRIES. 

king,  furious  with  jealousy,  pursues  her,  and  is  as  mad  as 
Orlando.  He  grapples  with  a  wasp  whom  he  mistakes  for 
the  enemy ;  next  plunges  upon  a  glowworm,  and  thumps 
her  for  carrying  fire :  then  runs  into  a  hive  of  bees  who 
daub  him  all  over  with  their  honey ;  then  leaps  upon  an 
ant,  and  gallops  her ;  then  scours  over  a  mole-hill,  and 
plumps  into  a  puddle  up  to  his  neck.  The  queen  hears  of 
his  pursuit,  and  she  and  all  her  maids  of  honor  secrete 
themselves  in  a  nutshell.  Pigwiggen  goes  out  to  meet 
the  king,  riding  upon  a  fiery  earwig  / 

a  fairy's  arms  and  war-horse. 
His  helmet  was  a  beetle's  head 
Most  horrible  and  full  of  dread, 
That  able  was  to  strike  one  dead, 

Yet  it  did  well  become  him. 
And  for  his  plume  a  horse's  hair, 
Which  being  tossed  by  the  air, 
Had  force  to  strike  his  foe  with  fear, 

And  turn  his  weapon  from  him. 

Himself  he  on  an  earwig  set, 

Yet  scarce  he  on  his  back  could  get, 

So  oft  and  high  he  did  curvet 

Ere  he  himself  could  settle ; 
He  made  him  turn,  and  stop,  and  bound, 
To  gallop  and  to  trot  the  round, 
He  scarce  could  stand  on  any  ground,* 

He  was  so  full  of  mettle. 

The  queen,  scandalized  and  alarmed  at  the  height  to 
which  matters  are  now  openly  proceeding,  applies  to  Pros- 
erpina for  help.  The  goddess  takes  pity  on  her,  and 
during  a  dreadful  combat  between  the  champions,  comes 
up  with  a  bag  full  of  Stygian  fog  and  a  bottle  of  Lethe 
water.      The  contents  of  the  bag  being  suddenly  dis- 

*  Stare  loco  nescit,  &c  — Virgil. 


FAIRIES.  115 

charged,  the  knights  lose  one  another  in  the  mist;  and 
on  the  latter's  clearing  off,  the  goddess  steps  in  as  herald 
on  behalf  of  Pluto  to  forbid  further  hostilities,  adding  that 
the  ground  of  complaint  shall  be  duly  investigated,  but 
first  recommending  to  the  parties  to  take  a  draught  of  the 
liquor  she  has  brought  with  her,  in  order  to  enlighten  their 
understandings.  They  drink  and  forget  every  thing  ;  and 
the  queen  and  her  maids  of  honor,  "  closely  smiling  "  at  the 
jest,  return  with  them  to  court,  and  have  a  grand  dinner. 
Now  this  is  "  worshipful  society,"  and  a  good  plot.  The 
" machines"  as  the  French  school  used  to  call  them,  are 
in  good  keeping  ;  and  the  divine  interference  worthy. 

In  the  "  Muses'  Elysium  "  of  the  same  poet  is  a  descrip- 
tion of  a  fairy  wedding.  The  bride  wears  buskins  made 
of  the  shells  of  the  lady-bird,  with  a  head-dress  of  rose- 
yellows  and  peacock-moons,  &c. ;  but  her  bed  is  a  thing 
to  make  one  wish  one's  self  only  a  span  long,  in  order  to 
lay  one's  cheek  in  it.  The  coverlid  is  of  white  and  red 
rose-leaves  ;  the  curtains  and  tester  of  the  flower-imperial, 
with  a  border  of  harebells ;  and  the  pillows  are  of  lily, 
stuffed  with  butterfly-down.* 

*  From  "  The  Recreations  of  Christopher  North,"  we  take  this  beautiful 
and  very  poetical  description  of  a  Fairy's  Funeral :  — 

There  it  was,  on  a  little  river  island,  that  once,  whether  sleeping  or  waking 
we  know  not,  we  saw  celebrated  a  fairy's  funeral.  First  we  heard  small 
pipes  playing,  as  if  no  bigger  than  hollow  rushes  that  whisper  to  the  night 
winds ;  and  more  piteous  than  aught  that  trills  from  earthly  instrument  was 
the  scarce  audible  dirge  !  It  seemed  to  float  over  the  stream,  every  foam-bell 
emitting  a  plaintive  note,  till  the  airy  anthem  came  floating  over  our  couch, 
and  then  alighted  without  footsteps  among  the  heather.  The  pattering  of  little 
feet  was  then  heard,  as  if  living  creatures  were  arranging  themselves  in  order, 
and  then  there  was  nothing  but  a  more  ordered  hymn.  The  harmony  was  like 
the  melting  of  musical  dew-drops,  and  song,  without  words,  of  sorrow  and 
death.  We  opened  our  eyes,  or  rather  sight  came  to  them  when  closed,  and 
dream  was  vision  :  Hundreds  of  creatures,  no  taller  than  the  crest  of  the  lap- 


Il6  FAIRIES. 

We  think,  with  the  author  of  the  "  Mythology,"  that  Her- 
rick's  fairy  poetry  is  inferior  to  that  of  Drayton.  Herrick 
is  indeed  very  inferior  to  the  reputation  which  a  few  happy 
little  poems  have  obtained  for  him ;  and  the  late  reprint 
of  his  works  has  done  him  no  good.  For  one  delicacy 
there  are  twenty  pages  of  coarseness  and  insipidity.  His 
epigrams,  for  the  most  part,  are  ludicrous  only  for  the 
total  absence  of  wit ;  and  inasmuch  as  he  wanted  senti- 
ment, he  was  incapable  of  his  own  voluptuousness.  His 
passion  is  cold,  and  his  decencies  impertinent.  In  his 
offerings  at  pagan  altars,  the  Greek's  simplicity  becomes 
a  literal  nothing ;  though  there  is  an  innocence  in  the  ped- 
antry that  is  by  no  means  the  worst  thing  about  him. 
His  verses  on  his  maid  Prue  are  edifying.  Herrick  was  a 
jovial  country  priest,  a  scholar,  and  a  friend  of  Ben  Jon- 
son's,  and  we  dare  say  had  been  a  capital  university-man. 
Scholarship  and  a  certain  quickness  were  his  real  in- 
spirers,  and  he  had  a  good  sense,  which  in  one  instance 
has  exhibited  itself  very  remarkably;  for  it  led  him  to 
speak  of  his  being  "  too  coarse  to  love."     To  be  sure,  he 


wing,  and  all  hanging  down  their  veiled  heads,  stood  in  a  circle  on  a  green  plat 
among  the  rocks  ;  and  in  the  midst  was  a  bier,  framed  as  it  seemed  of  flowers 
unknown  to  the  Highland  hills  ;  and  on  the  bier  a  fairy,  lying  with  uncovered 
face,  pale  as  the  lily,  and  motionless  as  the  snow.  The  dirge  grew  fainter 
and  fainter,  and  then  died  quite  away ;  when  two  of  the  creatures  came  from 
the  circle,  and  took  their  station,  one  at  the  head  and  the  other  at  the  foot  of 
the  bier.  They  sang  alternate  measures,  not  louder  than  the  twittering  of  the 
awakened  wood-lark  before  it  goes  up  the  dewy  air,  but  dolorous  and  full  of 
the  desolation  of  death.  The  flower-bier  stirred ;  for  the  spot  on  which  it  lay 
sank  slowly  down,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  greensward  was  smooth  as  ever 
—  the  very  dews  glittering  about  the  buried  fairy.  A  cloud  passed  over  the 
moon  ;  and,  with  a  choral  lament,  the  funeral  troop  sailed  duskily  away,  heard 
afar  off,  so  still  was  the  midnight  solitude  of  the  glen.  Then  the  disenthralled 
Orchy  began  to  rejoice  as  before  through  all  her  streams  and  falls  ;  and  at  the 
sudden  leaping  of  the  waters  and  outbursting  of  the  moon,  we  awoke.  —  Ed. 


FAIRIES.  117 

has  put  the  observation  in  the  mouth  of  a  lady,  and  prob- 
ably he  found  it  there.  He  well  deserved  it  for  the  foolish 
things  he  has  said.  He  made  a  good  hit  now  and  then, 
when  fresh  from  reading  his  favorite  authors  ;  and  among 
them,  we  must  rank  a  fairy  poem  mentioned  by  the  author 
of  the  "  Legends  of  the  South  of  Ireland."  His  office 
helped  to  inspire  him  in  it,  for  it  is  a  satire,  and  a  bitter 
one,  on  the  ceremonies  of  Catholic  worship.  We  must 
own  we  have  a  regard  for  a  Catholic  chapel ;  but  it  is  not 
to  be  denied  that  some  of  the  duties  performed  in  it  are 
strange  things,  and  open  to  quaint  parodies.  The  names 
of  the  saints  in  Herrick  are  worthy  of  Drayton. 

There  is  one  thing  in  the  fairies  of  Drayton  which  de- 
serves mention.  He  does  not  shirk  the  miscellaneous, 
and,  in  some  respects,  anti-human  nature  of  their  tastes. 
The  delicacies  at  their  table  are  not  always  such  as  we 
should  think  pleasant,  or  even  bearable.  This  is  good  ; 
perhaps  more  so  than  he  was  aware,  for  he  overdoes  it. 

Milton's  "pert  fairies  and  dapper-elves"  are  a  little  too 
sophistical.  They  are  too  much  like  fairies  acting  them- 
selves ;  which  is  overdoing  the  quaint  nicety  of  their  con- 
sciousness. But  in  addition  to  the  well-known  passages 
we  have  quoted  from  him  already,  there  is  a  very  fine  one 
in  his  First  Book.  He  is  speaking  of  the  transformation 
of  the  devils  into  a  crowd  in  miniature. 

As  bees 
In  spring-time,  when  the  sun  with  Taurus  rides, 
Pour  forth  their  populous  youth  about  the  hive 
In  clusters :  they  among  fresh  dews  and  flowers 
Fly  to  and  fro,  or  on  the  smoothed  plank, 
The  suburb  of  their  straw-built  citadel, 
New  rubb'd  with  balm,  expatiate  and  confer 
Their  state  affairs.     So  thick  the  aery  crowd 
Swarm'd  and  were  straiten'd  ;  till  the  signal  given, 
Behold  a  wonder !     They  but  now  who  seem'd 


Il8  FAIRIES. 

In  bigness  to  surpass  earth's  giant  sons, 
Now  less  than  smallest  dwarfs  in  narrow  room 
'     Throng  numberless,  like  that  Pygmean  race, 
Beyond  the  Indian  mount ;  or  faery  elves, 
Whose  midnight  revels,  by  a  forest  side, 
Or  fountain,  some  belated  peasant  sees, 
Or  dreams  he  sees,  while  overhead  the  moon 
Sits  arbitress,  and  nearer  to  the  earth 
Wheels  her  pale  course  ;  they,  on  their  mirth  and  dance 
Intent,  with  jocund  music  charm  his  ear ; 
At  once  with  joy  and  fear  his  heart  rebounds. 

There  is  a  pretty  fairy  tale  in  Parnell,  where  a  young 
man,  by  dint  of  moral  beauty,  loses  his  hump.  Perhaps  it 
was  this  poem  that  suggested  a  large  prose  piece  to  the 
same  effect,  written,  we  believe,  by  a  descendant  of  the 
poet's  family,  and  well  worthy  the  perusal  of  all  who  are 
not  acquainted  with  it.  It  is  entitled  "  Julietta,  or  the 
Triumph  of  Mental  Acquirements  over  Bodily  Defects  ; " 
and  is  found  in  most  circulating  libraries.  But  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  stories  on  the  subject,  and  indeed  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  stories  in  the  world,  is  the  celebrated 
fairy  tale  of  "  Beauty  and  the  Beast."  Of  this,  however, 
we  may  speak  another  time  ;  for  the  fairies  of  the  French 
books  (however  minute  may  be  their  dealings  occasionally) 
are  not  the  little  elves  of  the  North,  but  the  Fates  or  en- 
chantresses of  Romance,  paying  visits  to  the  nursery. 

We  shall  conclude  with  a  few  goblin  anecdotes,  illus- 
trative of  the  present  state  of  fairy  belief  in  its  true 
northern  region,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  British  and  other 
islands,  Scandinavia,  and  Germany ;  and,  as  the  creed  is, 
in  fact,  the  same  throughout  the  whole  of  that  part  of  the 
world,  though  modified  by  the  customs  of  the  different 
people,  we  shall  not  stop  to  make  literal  or  national  dis- 
tinctions, when  the  spirit  of  the  thing  is  the  same.  Our 
authorities  are  the  "  Fairy  Mythology,"  and  the  "  Fairy 


FAIRIES.  119 

Legends  of  the  South  of  Ireland ; "  but  it  is  proper  to 
state,  as  the  authors  of  these  works  make  a  point  of  doing, 
that  the  great  masters  of  Fairy  lore  now  living  are  Messrs. 
Grimm,  the  German  writers,  with  whose  language  (the 
language  of  Goethe)  we  are,  to  our  regret,  unacquainted. 
But  we  are  zealous  students  at  second  hand. 

A  man  who  had  a  Nis,  or  goblin,  in  his  house,  could 
think  of  no  other  way  of  getting  rid  of  him  than  by  moving. 
He  accordingly  packed  up  his  goods,  and  was  preparing  to 
set  off  with  the  cart,  when  the  Nis  put  up  his  head  from 
it,  and  cried  out  — "  Eh  !  Well,  we're  moving  to-day, 
you  see." 

A  German,  for  a  similar  reason,  set  fire  to  his  barn, 
hoping  to  burn  the  goblin  with  it. 

Turning  round  to  look  at  the  blaze,  as  he  was  driving 
away,  the  goblin  said,  "It  was  time  to  move,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

There  was  a  Nis  that  was  plagued  by  a  mischievous 
boy.  He  went  one  night  to  the  boy,  as  he  was  sleeping 
in  bed  by  the  side  of  a  tall  man,  and  kept  pulling  him  up 
and  down,  under  the  pretence  of  not  being  able  to  make 
him  fit  the  other's  stature.  When  he  was  down  he  was 
too  short ;  and  when  up,  not  long  enough.  "  Short  and 
long  don't  match,"  said  he  ;  and  kept  pulling  him  up  and 
down  all  night.  Being  tired  by  daylight,  he  went  and  sat 
on  a  wall,  and  as  the  dog  barked,  but  could  not  get  at  him, 
the  Nis  kept  plaguing  him,  by  thrusting  down  first  one  leg 
and  then  the  other,  saying,  "  Look  at  my  little  leg !  Look 
at  my  little  leg  !  "  By  this  time  the  boy  got  up  dreadfully 
tired  with  his  dream,  and  while  the  Nis  was  wrapt  up  in 
his  amusement,  the  boy  went  behind  him,  and  tumbled 
him  into  the  yard,  saying,  "  Look  at  him  altogether." 

Two  Scotch  lassies  were  eating  a  bowl  of  broth.  They 
had  but  one  spoon,  and  yet  they  scarcely  seemed  to  have 


120  FAIRIES. 

tasted  their  mess,  but  they  had  come  to  the  bottom  of  it 
"  I  hae  got  but  three  sups,"  cried  the  one,  "  and  it's  a' 
dune  !  "  "  It's  a'  dune,  indeed,"  cried  the  other.  "  Ha  ! 
ha  !  ha !  "  cried  a  third  voice,  "  Brownie  has  got  the  raist 
o't." 

A  husband  going  a  journey,  gave  a  Kobold  the  charge 
of  his  wife  during  his  absence.  The  good  man  departed, 
and  Kobold  had  nothing  to  do  from  that  day  forward  but 
assume  frightful  shapes,  fling  people  down,  and  crack 
ribs.  At  length  the  husband  came,  back,  and  a  figure  at 
the  door  welcomed  him  with  a  face  pale,  but  delighted. 
"  Who  are  you  ?  "  cried  the  husband  ;  for  he  did  not 
know  Kobold,  he  had  grown  so  thin.  "  I  am  the  keeper 
of  our  fair  friend,"  said  the  elf,  "  but  it  is  for  the  last  time. 
Whew  !"  continued  he,  blowing,  "what  a  time  I've  had 
of  it!" 

A  Neck,  or  water  spirit,  was  playing  upon  his  harp, 
when  two  boys  said  to  him,  "  What  is  the  use,  Neck,  of 
your  sitting  and  playing  there  ?  you  will  never  be  saved." 
Upon  this  the  poor  spirit  began-  to  weep  bitterly.  The 
boys  ran  home,  and  told  their  father,  who  rebuked  them  ; 
so  they  came  back  again,  and  said,  "  Be  of  good  cheer, 
Neck,  father  says  you  will  be  saved  as  well  as  us."  The 
Neck  then  took  his  harp  again,  and  played  sweetly,  long 
after  it  was  too  dark  to  see  him.     This  is  very  beautiful. 

The  most  ghastly,  to  our  taste,  of  all  the  equivocal 
fairies,  are  the  Elle-women,  or  Female  Elves,  of  Denmark. 
The  male  is  a  little  old  man  with  a  low- crowned  hat ;  the 
female  is  young  and  fair,  very  womanly  to  all  appearance, 
and  with  an  attractive  countenance,  "  but  behind  she  is 
hollow,  like  a  dough-trough.  She  has  so  many  lures  that 
people  find  it  difficult  to  resist  her  ;  and  they  must  always 
follow  her  about,  if  they  once  fondle  her  ;  otherwise  they 


FAIRIES.  121 

lose  their  senses.  But  she  is  apt  to  bring  herself  into 
suspicion  by  trying  never  to  let  her  back  be  seen.  If  you 
make  the  sign  of  the  cross,  she  is  obliged  to  turn  round. 
We  know  not  whether  the  charm  remains  in  spite  of  the 
dough-trough,  provided  you  are  once  beguiled.  A  more 
unsatisfactory  charm  could  hot  be  found.  Think  of  clasp- 
ing her  to  your  heart,  and  finding  your  hands  come  together 
within  an  ace  of  your  breastbone  ! 

When  lonely  German  clasps  an  Elle-maid, 
And  finds  too  late  a  butcher's  tray  — 

We  may  laugh  at  such  horrors  at  this  time  of  day,  espe- 
cially in  England ;  but  these  darker  parts  of  superstition 
are  still  mischievous  sometimes  to  those  who  believe  in 
them  ;  and  we  have  no  doubt  there  are  still  believers, 
upon  grounds  which  it  would  be  found  difficult  to  shake. 
To  say  the  truth,  we  are  among  the  number  of  those  who, 
with  all  allowance  for  the  lies  that  have  been  plentifully 
told  on  such  matters,  do  yet  believe  that  fairies  have  actu- 
ally been  seen ;  but  then  it  was  by  people  whose  percep- 
tions were  disturbed.  It  is  observable  that  the  ordinary 
seers  have  been  the  old,  the  diseased,  or  the  intoxicated  ; 
young  people's  aunts,  or  grandfathers,  or  peasants  going 
home  from  the  ale-house.  When  the  young  see  them,  their 
minds  are  prepared  by  a  firm  belief  in  what  their  elders 
have  told  them  ;  so  that  terrors  which  should  pass  off"  for 
nothing,  on  closer  inspection,  become  a  real  perception  with 
these  weaker  heads  ;  the  ideas  impressed  upon  the  brain 
taking  the  usual  morbid  stand  outside  of  it.  We  have  no 
doubt  that  the  case  is  precisely  the  same,  in  its  degree, 
with  the  spectral  illusion  of  faces  and  more  horrid  sights, 
experienced  by  opium-eaters,  and  others  in  a  delicate  state 
of  health.     We  learn  from  a  work  of  the  late  Mr.  Bingley, 


1 22  FAIRIES. 

that  the  metal  known  by  the  name  of  cobalt,  is  so  called 
from  the  German  word  kobold,  or  goblin,  so  often  men- 
tioned in  this  article,  the  miners  who  dig  for  it  appearing 
to  be  particularly  subject  to  the  vexations  of  the  elf,  in 
consequence  of  the  poison  which  his  namesake  exhales.* 
If  it  should  be  asked  how  we  can  tell  that  any  thing  which 
is  really  seen  does  not  really  exist,  we  answer,  that  such  a 
state  of  existence  is,  at  all  events,  not  a  healthy  one,  and 
therefore  its  perceptions  are  not  to  be  taken  as  proper  to 
humanity.  Not  to  mention  that  spectral  illusions  are  of  no 
use  but  to  terrify,  and  are  quite  as  likely,  and  more  so,  to 
happen  to  the  conscientious  and  the  delicately  organized 
and  considerate,  as  to  those  whose  vices  might  be  sup- 
posed to  require  them. 

The  consequence  of  these  darker  parts  of  the  belief  in 
fairies,  is  that  deliriums  have  frequently  been  occasioned 
by  them;  fancied  announcements  and  forebodings  have 
preyed  on  the  spirits  in  domestic  life,  and  the  popular  mind 
kept  in  a  state,  which  bigotry  and  worldliness  have  been 
enabled  to  turn  to  the  worst  account.  But  a  counter- 
charm  was  nevertheless  growing  up  in  secret  against  the 
witchcrafts  of  imagination,  by  dint  of  imagination  itself, 
and  the  readiness  with  which  it  was  prepared  to  enter  into 
the  thoughts  of  others,  and  sympathize  with  the  great 
cause  of  knowledge  and  humanity.  The  cure  for  these 
and  a  hundred  evils,  is  not  the  rooting  out  of  imagination, 
which  would  be  a  proceeding,  in  fact,  as  impossible  as 
undesirable,  but  the  cultivation  of  its  health  and  its  cheer- 
fulness. Good  sense  and  fancy  need  never  be  separated. 
Imagination  is  no  enemy  to  experience,  nor  can  experience 
draw  her  from  her  last  and  best  holds.     She  stands  by, 

*  "  Useful  Knowledge,"  vol.  i.  p.  220. 


FAIRIES.  I23 

willing  to  know  every  thing  he  can  discover,  and  able  to 
recommend  it,  by  charms  infinite,  to  the  good  will  and 
sentiment  of  all  men.  What  has  been  in  the  world  is, 
perhaps,  the  best  for  what  is  to  be,  none  of  its  worst  evils 
excepted ;  but  found  out  and  known  to  be  evils,  the  latter 
have  lost  even  their  doubtful  advantages  ;  imagination,  in 
the  finer  excitements  of  sympathy  and  the  beautiful  crea- 
tions of  the  poets,  casts  off  these  shades  of  uneasy  slum- 
ber ;  and  all  that  she  says  to  knowledge  is,  "  Discard  me 
not,  for  your  own  sake  as  well  as  mine  ;  lest  with  want  of 
me,  want  of  sympathy  itself  return,  and  utility  be  again 
mistaken  for  what  it  is  not,  as  superstition  has  already 
mistaken  it." 

The  sum  of  our  creed  in  these  matters  is  this  :  Spec- 
tral illusion,  or  the  actual  sight  of  spiritual  appearances, 
takes  place  only  with  the  unhealthy,  and  therefore  is  not 
desirable  as  a  general  condition  :  but  spiritual  or  imagina- 
tive sight  is  consistent  with  the  healthiest  brain,  and  en- 
riches our  sources  of  enjoyment  and  reflection.  The  three 
things  we  have  to  take  care  of,  on  these  and  all  other 
occasions,  are  health,  knowledge,  and  imagination. 


24  GENII    AND    FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST. 


GENII    AND    FAIRIES    OF  THE    EAST,    THE 
ARABIAN    NIGHTS,    &c. 

AIL,  gorgeous  East !      Hail,   regions   of  the 
colored  morning  !     Hail,  Araby  and  Persia  ! 
—  not  the  Araby  and  Persia  of  the  geogra- 
pher, dull  to  the  dull,  and  governed  by  the 
foolish,  —  but  the  Araby  and  Persia  of  books, 
of  the  other  and  more  real  East,  which  thousands  visit 
every  day,  —  the  Orient  of  poets,  the  magic  land  of  the 
child,  the  uneffaceable  recollection  of  the  man. 

To  us,  the  "  Arabian  Nights  "  is  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful books  in  the  world :  not  because  there  is  nothing  but 
pleasure  in  it,  but  because  the  pain  has  infinite  chances  of 
vicissitude,  and  because  the  pleasure  is  within  the  reach 
of  all  who  have  body  and  soul  and  imagination.  The 
poor  man  there  sleeps  in  a  doorway  with  his  love,  and  is 
richer  than  a  king.  The  sultan  is  dethroned  to-morrow, 
and  has  a  finer  throne  the  next  day.  The  pauper  touches 
a  ring,  and  spirits  wait  upon  him.  You  ride  in  the  air ; 
you  are  rich  in  solitude ;  you  long  for  somebody  to  return 
your  love,  and  an  Eden  encloses  you  in  its  arms.  You 
have  this  world,  and  you  have  another.  Fairies  are  in 
your  moonlight.  Hope  and  imagination  have  their  fair 
play,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us.  There  is  action  heroical, 
and  passion  too :  people  can  suffer,  as  well  as  enjoy,  for 
love  ;  you  have  bravery,  luxury,  fortitude,  self-devotion, 
comedy  as  good  as  Moliere's,  tragedy,  Eastern  manners, 
the  wonderful  that  is  in  a  commonplace,  and  the  verisi- 
militude that  is  in  the  wonderful  calendars,  cadis,  robbers, 
enchanted  palaces,  paintings  full  of  color  and  drapery, 


GENII   AND   FAIRIES   OF   THE   EAST.  1 25 

warmth  for  the  senses,  desert  in  arms  and  exercises  to 
keep  it  manly,  cautions  to  the  rich,  humanity  for  the  more 
happy,  and  hope  for  the  miserable.  Whenever  we  see  the 
"  Arabian  Nights  "  they  strike  a  light  upon  our  thoughts, 
as  though  they  were  a  talisman  incrusted  with  gems  ;  and 
we  fancy  we  have  only  to  open  the  book  for  the  magic 
casket  to  expand,  and  enclose  us  with  solitude  and  a 
garden. 

This  wonderful  work  is  still  better  for  the  West  than 
for  the  East ;  because  it  is  a  thing  remoter,  with  none  of 
our  commonplaces  ;  and  because,  our  real  opinions  not 
being  concerned  in  it,  we  have  all  the  benefit  of  its  genius 
without  being  endangered  by  its  prejudices.  The  utility 
of  a  work  of  imagination  indeed  must  outweigh  the  draw- 
backs upon  it  in  any  country.  It  makes  people  go  out  of 
themselves,  even  in  pursuit  of  their  own  good ;  and  is 
thus  opposed  to  the  worst  kind  of  selfishness.  These 
stories  of  vicissitude  and  natural  justice  must  do  good 
even  to  sultans,  and  help  to  keep  them  in  order,  though 
it  is  doubtful  how  far  they  may  not  also  serve  to  keep 
them  in  possession.  With  us  the  good  is  unequivocal. 
The  cultivation  of  hope  comes  in  aid  of  the  progress  of 
society ;  and  he  may  safely  retreat  into  the  luxuries  and 
rewards  of  the  perusal  of  an  Eastern  tale,  whom  its  passion 
for  the  beautiful  helps  to  keep  in  heart  with  his  species, 
and  by  whom  the  behavior  of  its  arbitrary  kings  is  seen 
in  all  its  regal  absurdity,  as  well  as  its  human  excuses. 

Like  all  matters  on  which  the  poets  have  exercised  their 
fancy,  the  opinions  respecting  the  nature  of  the  supernat- 
ural beings  of  the  East  have  been  rendered  inconsistent 
even  among  the  best  authorities.  Sir  John  Malcolm  says 
that  Deev  means  a  magician,  whereas,  in  the  Persian 
Dictionary  of  Richardson,  it  is  rendered  spirit  and  giant ; 


126  GENII    AND    FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST. 

by  custom,  a  devil :  and  Sir  John  uses  it,  in  the  same 
sense  in  general.  D'Herbelot  uses  it  in  the  sense  of 
demon,  and  yet  in  his  article  on  "  Solomon  "  it  is  opposed 
to  it,  or  simply  means  giant.  Richardson  tells  us,  that 
Peri  means  a  beautiful  creature  of  no  sex  ;  whereas  accord- 
ing to  Sir  William  Ouseley,  it  is  always  female  ;  and  Rich- 
ardson himself  gives  us  to  understand  as  much  another 
time.  Upon  the  whole  we  think  the  following  may  be 
taken  as  the  ordinary  opinion,  especially  among  authors 
of  the  greatest  taste  and  genius. 

The  Persians  (for  all  these  supernatural  tales  originated 
with  the  Persians,  Indians,  and  Chaldeans,  and  not  with 
the  Arabs,  except  in  as  far  as  the  latter  became  united 
with  the  Persians),  are  of  opinion,  that  many  kings  reigned, 
and  many  races  of  creatures  existed,  before  the  time  of 
Adam.*  The  geologists  ought  to  have  a  regard  for  this 
notion,  which  has  an  air  of  old  knowledge  beyond  ours,  and 
falls  in  with  what  has  been  conjectured  respecting  the 
diluvial  strata.  According  to  the  Persians,  a  time  may 
have  existed,  when  mammoths,  not  men,  were  lords  of  the 
creation ;  when  a  gigantic  half-human  phenomenon  of  a 
beast  put  his  crown  on  with  what  was  only  a  hand  by 
courtesy ;  and  elephants  and  leviathans  conversed  under 
a  sky  in  which  it  was  always  twilight.  Very  grand  fictions 
might  be  founded  on  imaginations  of  this  sort;  —  a  Pre- 
adamite  epic :  and  knowledge  and  sensibility  might  be 
represented  as  gradually  displacing  successive  states  of 
beings,  till  man  and  woman  rose  with  the  full  orb  of  the 
morning,  —  themselves  to  be  displaced  by  a  finer  stock, 


*  Giafar  the  Just,  sixth  Imam,  or  Pontiff  of  the  Mussulmans,  was  of  opinion, 
that  there  had  been  three  Adams  before  the  one  mentioned  in  Scripture,  and 
that  there  were  to  be  seventeen  more.  —  D'Herbelot,  in  the  article  "  Giafar." 


GENII    AND    FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST.  1 27 

if  the  efforts  of  cultivation  cannot  persuade  them  to  be  the 
stock  themselves. 

The  race  immediately  preceding  that  of  human  kind 
resembled  them  partly  in  appearance,  but  were  of  gigantic 
stature,  various-headed,  and  were  composed  of  the  ele- 
ment of  fire.  These  were  the  Genii,  Deevs,  or  race  of 
gigantic  spirits  {the  Jann  or  Jinn  of  the  Arabs,  —  Pers. 
Jannian  or  Jinnian).*  They  lived  three  thousand  years 
each,  and  had  many  contests  with  other  spirits,  of  whose 
nature  we  are  left  in  the  dark ;  but  the  heavens  appear 
to  have  warred  with  them,  among  other  enemies.  A 
dynasty  of  forty,  or  according  to  others  of  seventy-two 
Solimans,  reigned  over  them  in  succession,  the  last  of 
whom  was  the  renowned  Soliman  Jan-ben-Jan.  His 
buckler,  says  D'Herbelot,  is  as  famous  among  the  Orien- 


*  Pronounced  Jaun  and  J'mniaun.  So  Ispahaum,  Goolistaun,  &c.  It  is  a 
pleasure,  we  think,  to  know  how  to  pronounce  these  Eastern  words,  and  there- 
fore we  give  the  reader  the  benefit  of  our  ABC  learning.  There  is  a  couplet 
in  Sir  William  Ouseley's  "Travels"  which  haunted  us  for  a  month,  purely 
because  we  had  found  out  how  to  pronounce  it,  and  liked  the  spirit  of  it.  We 
repeat  it  from  memory  — 

Haun  sheer  khaiin  1 

Belkeh  sheer  dendaun  ! 

(Written  —  Han  shir  khan 

Belkeh  shir  dendan.) 

The  real  spelling  ought  to  be  kept,  for  many  reasons  ;  but  it  is  agreeable  to  find 
out  the  sound.  The  above  couplet  was  an  extempore  of  a  Persian  boy  at  an 
inn,  who  was  struck  with  the  dandy  assumptions  and  enormous  appetite  of  a 
native  gentleman  of  the  party.  This  person  had  been  commissioned  to  show 
Sir  William  the  country,  and  upon  the  strength  of  his  having  the  name  of  khan 
(as  if  one  of  us  were  a  Mr.  Lord),  gave  himself  the  airs  of  the  title.  The  jest 
of  the  little  mimic  (who  gives  us  an  advantageous  idea  of  the  Persian  vivacity), 
would  run  something  in  this  way  in  English,  a  lion  being  a  common  term  of 
exaltation :  — 

A  lion-lord,  indeed  ! 

You  may  know  him  by  his  feed. 


128  GENII   AND   FAIRIES    OF    THE   EAST. 

tals,  as  that  of  Achilles  among  the  Greeks.  He  possessed, 
also,  in  common  with  other  Solimans,  the  cuirass  called 
the  Gebeh,  and  the  Tig-atesch,  or  smouldering  sword, 
which  rendered  them  invisible  in  their  wars  with  the 
demons.*  In  his  time  the  race  had  become  so  proud  and 
so  incorrigible  to  the  various  lessons  given  to  them  and 
their  ancestors  from  above,  that  Heaven  sent  down  the  an- 
gel Hareth  to  reduce  them  to  obedience.  Hareth  did  his 
work,  and  took  the  government  of  the  world  into  his  hands, 
but  became  so  proud  in  his  turn,  that  the  deity  in  order  to 
punish  him  created  a  new  species  of  beings  to  possess  the 
earth,  and  bade  the  angels  fall  down  and  worship  it. 
Hareth  refused,  as  being  of  a  nobler  nature,  and  was 
thrust,  together  with  the  chiefs  of  those  who  adhered  to 
him,  into  hell,  the  whole  race  of  the  Genii  being  dismissed 
at  the  same  time  into  the  mountains  of  Kaf.  and  man  left 
in  possession  of  his  inheritance.  The  Genii,  however,  did 
not  leave  him  alone.  They  made  war  upon  him  occasion- 
ally till  the  time  of  the  greatest  of  all  the  Solimans,  Soli- 
man  ben  Daoud  (Solomon  the  son  of  David)  who  having 
finally  conquered  and  driven  them  back,  was  allowed  to 
retain  power  over  them,  to  give  peace  of  mind  to  such  as 
had  yielded  in  good  time,  and  to  compel  the  rest  to  suc- 
cumb to  him  whenever  he  thought  fit,  as  angels  overcame 
the  devils.  These  last  are  the  rebellious  Genii  of  the 
"Arabian  Nights."  They  are  the  Deevs,  in  the  diabolical 
and  now  the  only  sense  of  the  word,  —  Deev  signifying  a 
gigantic  evil  spirit ;  and  are  all  monsters,  more  or  less, 
and  generally  black  ;  though  the  most  famous  of  them  is 
the  Deev-Sifeed,  or  great  white  devil,  whose  conquest  was 
the   crowning  glory  of  Rustam,  the   Eastern  Hercules. 

*  D'Herbelot,  in  the  article  "  Soliman  Ben  Daoud." 


GENII   AND   FAIRIES    OF   THE   EAST.  1 29 

They  appear  to  be  of  different  classes,  and  to  have  differ- 
ent names,  except  the  latter  be  provincial.  Some  are 
called  Ishreels,  others  Afreets,  and  another  is  our  old 
acquaintance  the  Ghoul  (pronounced  ghool).  They  are 
permitted  to  wander  from  Kaf,  and  roam  about  the  world, 
"  as  a  security,"  says  Richardson,  "  for  the  future  obedi- 
ence of  man."  They  tempt  and  do  mischief  in  the  style  of 
the  Western  devil,  the  lowest  of  them  infesting  old  build- 
ings, haunting  church-yards,  and  feeding  on  dead  bodies. 
The  reader  will  recollect  the  lady  who  supped  with  one  of 
them,  and  who  used  to  pick  rice  with  a  bodkin.  These 
are  the  Ghouls  above  mentioned.  They  sometimes  inhabit 
waste  places,  moaning  in  the  wind,  and  waylaying  the 
traveller.  A  Deev  is  generally  painted  with  horns,  tail, 
and  saucer  eyes,  like  our  devil ;  but  an  author  now  and 
then  lavishes  on  a  description  of  him  all  the  fondness  of 
his  antipathy.  The  following  is  a  powerful  portrait  of  one 
of  them,  called  an  Afreet,  in  the  Bahar  Danush,  —  or 
"  Garden  of  Knowledge  "  (translated  from  the  Persian  by 
Mr.  Gladwin) :  — 

"  On  his  entrance,  he  beheld  a  black  demon,  heaped  on 
the  ground  like  a  mountain,  with  two  large  horns  on  his 
head,  and  a  long  proboscis,  fast  asleep.  In  his  head  the 
divine  Creator  had  joined  the  likenesses  of  the  elephant 
and  the  wild  bull.  His  teeth  grew  out  like  the  tusks  of 
the  wild  boar,  and  all  over  his  monstrous  carcase  hung 
shaggy  hairs,  like  those  of  the  bear.  The  eye  of  the 
mortal-born  was  dimmed  at  his  appearance,  and  the  mind, 
at  his  horrible  form  and  frightful  figure,  was  confounded. 

"  He  was  an  Afreet  created  from  mouth  to  foot  by  the 
wrath  of  God. 

"  His  hair  like  a  bear's,  his  teeth  like  a  boar's.  No  one 
ever  beheld  such  a  monster. 


I30  GENII    AND    FAIRIES    OF    THE    EAST. 

"  Crooked-backed  and  crab-faced  ;  he  might  be  scented 
at  the  distance  of  a  thousand  furlongs. 

"  His  nostrils  were  like  the  ovens  of  brick-burners,  and 
his  mouth  resembled  the  vat  of  a  dyer. 

"  When  his  breath  came  forth,  from  its  vehemence  the 
dust  rose  up  as  in  a  whirlwind,  so  as  to  leave  a  chasm  in 
the  earth  ;  and  when  he  drew  it  in,  chaff,  sand,  and  peb- 
bles, from  the  distance  of  some  yards,  were  attracted  to 
his  nostrils." 

Some  of  these  wanderers  about  the  world  appear  never- 
theless to  be  of  a  milder  nature  than  others,  and  undertake 
to  be  amiable  on  the  subject  of  love  and  beauty :  though 
this  indeed  is  a  mansuetude  of  which  most  devils  are  ren- 
dered capable.  In  the  story  of  Prince  Camaralzaman  and 
the  Princess  of  China,  a  "  cursed  genie  "  makes  common 
cause  with  a  good  fairy  in  behalf  of  the  two  lovers.  The 
fairy  makes  no  scruple  of  chatting  and  comparing  notes 
with  him  on  their  beauty,  at  the  same  time  addressing  him 
by  his  title  of  "  cursed,"  and  wondering  how  he  can  have 
the  face  to  differ  with  her.  The  devil,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  very  polite,  calling  her  his  "  dear  lady  "  and  "  agreeable 
Maimoune,"  and  tremblingly  exacting  from  her  a  promise 
to  do  him  no  harm,  in  return  for  his  telling  her  no  lies. 
The  question  demands  an  umpire  ;  and,  at  a  stamp  of 
Maimoune's  foot,  out  comes  from  the  earth  "a  hideous, 
humpbacked,  squinting,  and  lame  genie,  with  six  horns 
on  his  head,  and  claws  on  his  hands  and  feet."  Casch- 
casch  (this  new  monster)  behaves  like  a  well-bred  arbiter  ; 
and  the  fairy  thanks  him  for  his  trouble.  In  the  "  Arabian 
Tales ;    or,  sequel  to  the  Arabian  Nights,"  *  is  an  evil 


*  The  "  Arabian  Tales  "  are  unquestionably  of  genuine  Eastern  ground- 
work, and  amidst  a  great  deal  of  pantomimic  extravagance,  far  inferior  to  the 


GENII   AND    FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST.  131 

genius  resembling  the  Asmodeus  of  the  Devil  on  Two 
Sticks.  Asmodeus  is  evidently  Eastern,  the  Asmadai  of 
the  "  Paradise  Lost." 

There  is  a  world  of  literature  in  the  East,  of  which  we 
possess  but  a  little  corner  ;  though,  indeed,  that  corner  is 
exquisite,  and  probably  the  finest  of  all.* 


"  Nights,"  have  some  capital  stories.  II  Bondocani,  for  instance,  and  Mau- 
graby.  But  till  we  have  the  express  authority  of  a  scholar  to  the  contrary,  it  is 
difficult  to  say  that  a  French  hand  has  not  interfered  in  it,  beyond  what  is  stated 
by  the  translator  of  the  reformed  edition.  There  are  fine  things  in  the  story 
of  Maugraby. 

*  Doubts  have  been  gratuitously  and  not  very  modestly  expressed  of  the 
value  of  the  celebrated  Eastern  poets ;  but  surely  a  few  names  could  not  have 
risen  eminently  above  myriads  of  others,  and  become  the  delight  and  reverence 
of  nations,  without  possessing  something  in  common  with  the  great  attractions 
of  humanity  in  all  countries.  Sir  John  Malcolm  pronounces  Ferdoosi,  the  epic 
poet  of  Persia,  to  be  a  great  and  pathetic  genius ;  and  he  gives  some  evidence 
of  what  he  says,  even  in  a  prose  sketch  of  one  of  his  stories,  which,  says  the 
original,  is  a  story  "full  of  the  waters  of  the  eye."  There  is  a  couplet,  trans- 
lated by  Sir  William  Jones,  from  the  same  author,  which  shows  he  had  reflected 
upon  a  point  of  humanity  that  appears  obvious  enough,  and  yet  which  was 
never  openly  noticed  by  an  Englishman  till  the  time  of  Shakespeare.  Sir  Wil- 
liam's couplet  is  in  the  modern  fashion,  and  probably  not  in  the  original  sim- 
plicity, but  it  is  well  done,  and  fit  to  remember.     It  is  upon  crushing  an  insect. 

Ah !  spare  yon  emmet,  rich  in  hoarded  grain : 
He  lives  with  pleasure,  and  he  dies  with  pain. 

Do  the  gratuitous  critics  recollect,  that  the  stories  of  Ruth  and  Joseph,  and 
the  sublime  book  of  Job,  are  from  the  East?  or  that  the  religion  of  simplicity 
itself  comes  from  that  quarter?  the  religion  that  set  children  on  its  knee,  and 
bade  the  orthodox  Pharisee  retire?  It  appears  to  us  highly  probable,  that  even 
our  Eastern  scholars  are  liable  to  be  mistaken  respecting  the  pompous  language 
of  the  Orientals.  We  talk  of  their  highflown  metaphors,  and  eternal  substitu- 
tion of  images  for  words  ;  but  how  far  would  not  our  own  language  be  liable  to 
similar  misconception,  if  translated  in  the  same  literal  spirit?  What  should  we 
think  of  Persians,  who  instead  of  overlooking  the  every-day  nature  of  our 
colloquial  imagery  should  arrest  it  at  every  turn,  and  wonder  how  we  can  talk 
of  standing  in  other  people's  shoes,  taking  false  steps,  throwing  light  on  a  sub- 
ject, stopping  the  mouths  of  our  enemies,  &c.  ?    There  are  bad  and  florid 


132  GENII    AND    FAIRIES    OF    THE    EAST. 

So  much  for  the  rebellious  or  evil  Jinn. 

The  Jinns  obedient  seldom  make  their  appearance  in  a 
male  shape  ;  the  Orientals,  with  singular  gallantry  of 
imagination,  almost  always  making  them  females,  as  we 
shall  see  presently.  The  best  of  the  males  are  of  equivo- 
cal character,  and  retain  much  of  the  fiery  and  capricious 
natures  of  the  genii  of  old.  They  may  be  good  and  kind 
enough,  if  they  have  their  way  ;  but  do  not  willingly  come 
in  contact  with  men,  except  to  carry  off  their  wives  or 
daughters  ;  still  resenting,  it  would  seem,  the  ascendancy 
of  human  kind,  and  choosing  to  serve  their  own  princes 
and  genii,  rather  than  be  compelled  to  appear  before  mas- 
ters of  an  inferior  species,  —  for  magicians  have  power 
over  them,  as  our  astrologers  had  over  the  spirits  of  Plato 
and  the  Cabala.  They  come  frightfully,  as  well  as  against 
the  grain,  —  in  claps  of  thunder,  and  with  severe  faces. 
Furthermore,  they  have  a  taste  for  deformity,  if  we  are  to 
judge  from  the  description  of  Pari  Banou's  brother.  He 
was  not  above  a  foot  and  a  half  high,  had  a  beard  thirty 
feet  long,  and  carried  upon  his  shoulders  a  bar  of  iron  of 
five  hundred  weight,  which  he  used  as  a  quarter-staff. 
But  we  will  indulge  ourselves  (and  we  hope  the  reader) 
with  an  extract  about  him.  Prince  Ahmed,  who  has  had 
the  good  luck  to  marry  the  gentle  Pari,  which  has  excited 
a  great  deal  of  jealousy  and  a  wish  to  destroy  him,  is  re- 
quested by  his  father  (into  whose  dull  head  the  thought 
has  been  put)  to  bring  him  a  little  monster  of  a  man  of 
the  above  description. 

"'It  is  my  brother   Schaibar,'    said   the   fairy;    'he  is 


writers  in  all  countries,  perhaps  more  in  Persia,  because  the  people  there  are 
more  fervent ;  but  we  should  judge  of  a  literature  by  its  best  specimens,  not  its 
worst. 


GENII   AND   FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST.  1 33 

of  so  violent  a  nature,  though  we  had  both  the  same 
father,  that  nothing  prevents  his  giving  bloody  marks  of 
his  resentment  for  a  slight  offence;  yet  on  the  other  hand, 
so  good  as  to  oblige  any  one  in  what  they  desire.  He  is 
made  exactly  as  the  sultan,  your  father,  described  him, 
and  has  no  other  arms  than  a  bar  of  iron  of  five  hundred 
pounds  weight,  without  which  he  never  stirs,  and  which 
makes  him  respected.  I  will  send  for  him,  and  you  shall 
judge  of  the  truth  of  what  I  tell  you  ;  but  be  sure  you 
prepare  yourself  not  to  be  frightened  at  his  extraordinary 
figure,  when  you  see  him.'  — '  What !  my  queen,'  replied 
Prince  Ahmed,  '  do  you  say  Schaibar  is  your  brother  ? 
Let  him  be  ever  so  ugly  or  deformed,  I  shall  be  so  far 
from  being  frightened  at  the  sight  of  him,  that  I  shall  love 
and  honor  him,  and  consider  him  as  my  nearest  relation.' 

"  The  fairy  ordered  a  gold  chafing-dish,  with  fire  in  it,  to 
be  set  under  the  porch  of  her  palace,  with  a  box  of  the 
same  metal,  which  was  a  present  to  her,  out  of  which 
taking  some  incense,  and  throwing  it  into  the  fire,  there 
arose  a  thick  smoke. 

"  Some  moments  after,  the  fairy  said  to  Prince  Ahmed  : 
'  Prince,  there  comes  my  brother,  do  you  see  him  ?  do  you 
see  him  ? '  The  Prince  immediately  perceived  Schaibar, 
who  was  but  a  foot  and  a  half  high,  coming  gravely,  with 
his  bar  on  his  shoulder ;  his  beard  thirty  feet  long,  which 
supported  itself  before  him,  and  a  pair  of  thick  moustaches 
in  proportion,  tucked  up  to  his  ears  and  almost  covering 
his  face.  His  eyes  were  very  small,  like  a  pig's,  and  deep 
sunk  in  his  head,  which  was  of  enormous  size,  and  on 
which  he  wore  a  pointed  cap  ;  besides  all  this,  he  had  a 
hump  behind  and  before. 

"  If  Prince  Ahmed  had  not  known  that  Schaibar  was 
Pari  Banou's  brother,  he  would  not  have  been  able  to  look 


134  GENII   AND   FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST. 

at  him  without  fear  ;  but  knowing  who  he  was,  he  waited 
for  him  with  the  fairy,  and  received  him  without  the  least 
concern. 

"  Schaibar,  as  he  came  forwards,  looked  at  the  prince 
with  an  eye  that  would  have  chilled  his  soul  in  his  body, 
and  asked  Pari  Banou,  when  he  first  accosted  her,  '  who 
that  man  was  ?'  To  which  she  replied,  '  He  is  my  husband, 
brother  ;  his  name  is  Ahmed  ;  he  is  son  to  the  Sultan  of  the 
Indies.  The  reason  why  I  did  not  invite  you  to  my 
wedding  was,  I  was  unwilling  to  divert  you  from  the  expe- 
dition you  were  engaged  in,  and  from  which  I  heard,  with 
pleasure,  you  returned  victorious  ;  on  his  account  I  have 
taken  the  liberty  now  to  call  for  you.' 

"  At  these  words,  Schaibar,  looking  on  Prince  Ahmed 
with  a  favorable  eye,  which  however  diminished  neither 
his  fierceness  nor  savage  look,  said,  '  Is  there  any  thing, 
sister,  wherein  I  can  serve  him  ? '  " 

We  must  have  one  more  extract  on  this  part  of  our  sub- 
ject from  the  same  delightful  work.  The  King  of  the 
Genii,  in  the  beautiful  story  of  Zeyn  Alasnam  (which  ends 
with  a  piece  of  dramatic  surprise  equally  unexpected  and 
satisfactory),  is  a  good  genius,  and  yet  but  a  grim  sort  of 
personage.  Our  extract  includes  a  boatman  very  awkward 
to  sit  with,  an  enchanted  island,  and  a  very  princely  Jinn. 

Zeyn,  Prince  of  Balsora,  is  in  search  of  a  ninth  statue, 
which  is  necessary  to  complete  a  number  bequeathed  to 
him  by  his  father.  Agreeably  to  a  direction  found  by  him 
among  the  statues,  he  seeks  an  old  servant  of  his  father's, 
at  Cairo,  of  the  name  of  Morabec  ;  and  the  latter  under- 
takes to  forward  his  wishes,  but  advertises  him  there  is 
great  peril  in  the  adventure.  The  prince  determines  to 
proceed,  and  Morabec  directs  his  servants  to  make  ready 
for  a  journey. 


GENII   AND    FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST.  1 35 

"  Then  the  prince  and  he  performed  the  ablution  of 
washing,  and  the  prayer  enjoined,  which  is  called  farz  ;  and 
that  done  they  set  out.  By  the  way  they  took  notice  of 
abundance  of  strange  and  wonderful  things,  and  travelled 
many  days  ;  at  the  end  whereof,  being'  come  to  a  delight- 
ful spot,  they  alighted  from  their  horses.  Then  Morabec 
said  to  all  the  servants  that  attended  upon  them,  '  Do  you 
all  stay  in  this  place,  and  take  care  of  our  equipage  till  we 
return.'  Then  he  said  to  Zeyn,  '  Now,  sir,  let  us  go  on 
by  ourselves.  We  are  near  the  dreadful  place  where  the 
ninth  statue  is  kept ;  you  will  stand  in  need  of  all  your 
courage.' 

"  They  soon  came  to  a  lake :  Morabec  sat  down  on  the 
brink  of  it,  saying  to  the  Prince  :  '  We .  must  cross  this 
sea.'  '  How  can  we  cross  it,'  said  Zeyn,  '  when  we  have 
no  boat  ? '  '  You  will  see  one  in  a  moment,'  replied  Mora- 
bec ;  '  the  enchanted  boat  of  the  King  of  the  Genii  will 
come  for  us.  But  do  not  forget  what  I  am  going  to  say 
to  you ;  you  must  observe  a  profound  silence  ;  do  not 
speak  to  the  boatman,  though  his  figure  seem  ever  so 
strange  to  you  ;  whatsoever  extraordinary  circumstances 
you  may  observe,  say  nothing ;  for  I  tell  you  beforehand, 
that  if  you  utter  the  least  word  when  we  are  embarked 
the  boat  will  sink  down.'  '  I  shall  take  care  to  hold  my 
peace,'  said  the  prince  ;  '  you  need  only  tell  me  what  to 
do,  and  I  will  strictly  observe  it' 

"  While  they  were  talking,  he  espied  on  a  sudden  a  boat 
in  the  lake,  and  it  was  made  of  red  sandal-wood.  It  had 
a  mast  of  fine  amber,  and  a  blue  satin  flag-:  there  was 
only  one  boatman  in  it,  whose  head  was  like  an  elephant's, 
and  his  body  like  a  tiger's.  When  the  boat  was  come  up 
to  the  prince  and  Morabec,  the  monstrous  boatman  took 
them  up  one  after  the  other  with  his  trunk,  and  put  them 


I36  GENII   AND   FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST. 

into  his  boat,  and  carried  them  over  the  lake  in  a  moment 
He  then  again  took  them  up  with  his  trunk,  set  them  on 
shore,  and  immediately  vanished  with  his  boat. 

" '  Now  we  may  talk,'  said  Morabec  :  '  the  island  we  are 
on  belongs  to  the  "King  of  the  Genii ;  there  are  no  more 
such  in  the  world.  Look  round  you,  prince  ;  can  there 
be  a  more  delightful  place  ?  It  is  certainly  a  lovely  rep- 
resentation of  the  charming  place  God  has  appointed 
for  the  faithful  observers  of  our  law.  Behold  the  fields, 
adorned  with  all  sorts  of  flowers  and  odoriferous  plants  ; 
admire  these  beautiful  trees,  whose  delicious  fruit  makes 
the  branches  bend  down  to  the  ground  ;  enjoy  the  pleasure 
of  these  harmonious  songs,  formed  in  the  air  by  a  thou- 
sand birds  of  as  many  various  sorts,  unknown  in  other 
countries  ! '  Zeyn  could  not  sufficiently  admire  those  with 
which  he  was  surrounded,  and  still  found  something  new 
as  he  advanced  farther  into  the  island. 

"  At  length  they  came  to  a  palace  made  of  fine  emeralds, 
encompassed  with  a  ditch,  on  the  banks  whereof,  at  cer- 
tain distances,  were  planted  such  tall  trees,  that  they 
shaded  the  whole  palace. 

"  Before  the  gate,  which  was  of  massy  gold,  was  a  bridge, 
made  of  one  single  shell  of  a  fish,  though  it  was  at  least 
six  fathoms  long,  and  three  in  breadth.  At  the  head  of 
the  bridge  stood  a  company  of  Genii,  of  a  prodigious 
height,  who  guarded  the  entrance  into  the  castle  with 
great  clubs  of  China  steel. 

" '  Let  us  go  no  farther,'  said  Morabec  ;  '  these  Genii 
will  knock  us  down  ;  and,  in  order  to  prevent  their  com- 
ing to  us,  we  must  perform  a  magical  ceremony.'  He  then 
drew  out  of  a  purse  he  had  under  his  garment  four  long 
slips  of  yellow  taffety ;  one  he  put  about  his  middle,  and  laid 
the  other  on  his  back,  giving  the  other  two  to  the  prince, 


GENII   AND   FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST.  I37 

who  did  the  like.  Then  Morabec  laid  on  the  ground  two 
large  table-cloths,  on  the  edges  whereof  he  scattered  some 
precious  stones,  musk,  and  amber.  Then  he  sat  down  on 
one  of  these  cloths,  and  Zeyn  on  the  other  ;  and  Morabec 
said  to  the  prince,  '  I  shall  now,  sir,  conjure  the  King  of 
the  Genii,  who  lives  in  the  palace  that  is  before  us  :  may 
he  come  in  a  peaceable  mood  to  us  !  I  confess  I  am  not 
without  apprehension  about  the  reception  he  may  give  us. 
If  our  coming  into  the  island  is  displeasing  to  him,  he  will 
appear  in  the  shape  of  a  dreadful  monster  ;  but  if  he  ap- 
prove of  your  design,  he  will  show  himself  in  the  shape  of 
a  handsome  man.  As  soon  as  he  appears  before  us,  you 
must  rise  and  salute  him,  without  going  off  your  cloth  ; 
for  you  would  certainly  perish,  should  you  stir  off  it. 
You  must  say  to  him,  "  Sovereign  Lord  of  the  Genii,  my 
father,  who  was  your  servant,  has  been  taken  away  by  the 
angel  of  death  ;  I  wish  your  majesty  may  protect  me  as 
you  always  did  my  father."  If  the  King  of  the  Genii,' 
added  Morabec,  'ask  you  what  favor  you  desire  of  him, 
you  must  answer,  "  Sir,  I  most  humbly  beg  of  you  to  give 
me  the  ninth  statue."  ' 

"Morabec  having  thus  instructed  Zeyn,  began  his  conju- 
rations. Immediately  their  eyes  were  dazzled  with  a  long 
flash  of  lightning,  which  was  followed  by  a  clap  of  thun- 
der. The  whole  island  was  covered  with  a  thick  darkness  ; 
a  furious  storm  of  wind  blew,  a  dreadful  cry  was  heard, 
the  island  felt  a  shock,  and  there  was  such  an  earthquake 
as  that  which  Asrayel  is  to  cause  on  the  day  of  judgment. 

"  Zeyn  was  startled,  and  began  to  look  upon  that  noise 
as  a  very  ill  omen  ;  when  Morabec,  who  knew  better  than 
he  what  to  think  of  it,  began  to  smile,  and  said,  '  Take 
courage,  my  prince,  all  goes  well.'  In  short,  that  very 
moment  the  King  of  the  Genii  appeared  in  the  shape  of  a 


I38  GENII    AND    FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST. 

handsome  man,  yet  there  was  something  of  a  sternness  in 
his  air." 

The  king  promises  to  comply  with  the  prince's  request, 
but  upon  one  condition  —  that  he  shall  bring  him  a  damsel 
of  fifteen :  a  virgin  beautiful  and  perfectly  chaste ;  and 
that  her  conductor  shall  behave  himself  on  the  road  with 
perfect  propriety  towards  her,  both  in  deed  and  thought. 
"  Zeyn,"  says  the  story,  "  took  the  rash  oath  that  was 
required  of  him  ;  "  but  naturally  asks,  how  he  is  to  be  sure 
of  the  lady?  The  Genius  gives  him  a  looking-glass  on 
which  she  is  to  breathe,  and  which  will  be  sullied  or  un- 
sullied accordingly.  The  consequences  among  the  ladies 
are  such  as  Western  romancers  have  told  in  a  similar 
way ;  but  at  length  success  crowns  the  prince's  endeavors, 
and  he  conducts  the  Genius's  damsel  to  the  enchanted 
island,  not  without  falling  in  love,  and  being  tempted  to 
break  his  word  and  carry  her  away  to  Balsora.  The  king 
is  pleased  with  his  self-denial,  and  tells  him  that  on  his 
return  home  he  will  find  the  statue.  He  goes,  and  on  the 
pedestal  where  it  was  to  have  stood,  finds  the  lady !  The 
behavior  of  the  lady  is  in  very  good  taste,  and  completes 
the  charm  of  the  discovery. 

" '  Prince,'  said  the  young  maid,  '  you  are  surprised  to 
to  see  me  here  :  you  expected  to  have  found  something 
more  precious  than  me,  and  I  question  not  but  that  you 
now  repent  having  taken  so  much  trouble  :  you  expected 
a  better  reward.' 

"  '  Madam,'  answered  Zeyn,  '  Heaven  is  my  witness  that 
I  more  than  once  was  like  to  have  broken  my  word  with 
the  King  of  the  Genii,  to  keep  you  to  myself.  Whatsoever 
be  the  value  of  a  diamond  statue,  is  it  worthy  the  satis- 
faction of  enjoying  you  ?  I  love  you  above  all  the  dia- 
monds and  wealth  in  the  world.'  " 


GENII   AND    FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST.  139 

All  this  to  us  is  extremely  delightful.  We  can  say  with 
the  greatest  truth,  that  at  the  age  of  fifty  we  repeat  these 
passages  with  a  pleasure  little  short  of  what  we  experienced 
at  fifteen.  We  even  doubt  whether  it  is  less.  We  come 
round  to  the  same  delight  by  another  road.  The  genius 
is  as  grand  to  us,  if  not  so  frightful  as  of  old ;  the  boat- 
man is  peculiar ;  and  the  lady  is  charming.  Such  ladies 
may  really  be  found  on  pedestals,  for  aught  we  know,  in 
another  life  (one  life  out  of  a  million).  In  short,  we  refuse 
to  be  a  bit  older  than  we  were,  having,  in  fact,  lived  such 
a  little  while,  and  the  youth  of  eternity  being  before  us. 

So  now,  in  youth  and  good  faith,  to  come  to  our  last  and 
best  genius,  the  peri  !  We  call  her  so  from  custom,  but 
pari  is  the  proper  word  ;  and  in  the  story  above-mentioned, 
it  is  so  spelled.  We  shall  here  observe,  that  the  French 
have  often  misled  us  by  their  mode  of  spelling  Eastern 
words.  The  translation  of  the  "  Arabian  Nights  "  (which 
came  to  us  through  the  French)  has  palmed  upon  our 
childhood  the  genie,  or  French  word,  for  the  genius  of  the 
Latins,  instead  of  the  proper  word  jinn.  The  French* 
pronunciation  of  peri  is  pari;  and  in  Richardson's  Dic- 
tionary the  latter  is  the  spelling.  It  would  have  looked 
affected,  some  years  ago,  to  write  pari  for  peri  ;  though, 
in  the  story  just  alluded  to,  an  exception  is  made  in  favor 
of  it :  but  in  these  times,  when  the  growth  of  general 
learning  has  rendered  such  knowledge  common,  and  when 
Boccaccio  has  got  rid  among  us  of  his  old  French  mis- 
nomer of  Boccace  (which  a  friend  of  ours  very  properly 
called  bookcase),  we  might  as  well  write  pari  and  jinn, 
instead  of  peri  and  genie,  loth,  as  we  confess  we  are,  to 
give  up  the  latter  barbarism —  the  belief  of  our  childhood. 
But,  somehow,  we  love  any  truth  when  we  can  get  it,  fond 
as  we  are  of  fiction. 


I40  GENII   AND   FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST. 

Pari,  then,  in  future,  we  will  venture  to  write  it,  and 
jinn  shall  be  said  instead  of  genie  or  even  genius  ;  with 
which  it  is  said  to  have  nothing  to  do.  This  may  be  true  ; 
and  yet  it  is  curious  to  see  the  coincidence  between  the 
words,  and  for  our  part  we  are  not  sure,  if  the  etymology 
could  be  well  traced,  that  something  in  common  might 
not  be  found  between  the  words  as  well  as  the  things. 
There  might  have  been  no  collusion  between  the  countries, 
and  yet  a  similarity  of  sound  might  have  risen  out  of  the 
same  ideas.  This  circumstance  in  the  philosophy  of  the 
human  history  is,  we  think,  not  sufficiently  attended  to  on 
many  occasions.  Fictions,  for  example,  of  all  sorts  have 
been  traced  to  this  and  that  country,  as  if  what  gave  rise  to 
them  with  one  people  might  not  have  produced  them  out 
of  the  same  chances  and  faculties  with  another ;  obvious 
mixtures  and  modifications  may  be  allowed,  and  yet  every 
national  mind  throw  up  its  own  fancies,  as  well  as  the 
soil  its  own  flowers.  The  Persians  may  have  a  particular 
sort  of  fancy  as  they  have  of  lilac  or  roses  ;  but  fairies,  or 
spirits  in  general,  are  of  necessity  as  common  to  all  na- 
tions as  the  grass  or  the  earth,  or  the  shadows  among  the 
trees. 

Thus  out  of  similar  grounds  of  feeling  may  issue  the 
roots  of  the  same  words.  It  is  curious  that  jinn,  jinnian, 
and  geni-us,  should  so  resemble  one  another  ;  for  us  is 
only  the  nominative  termination  of  the  Latin  word,  and 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  root  of  it.  The  Eastern  word 
pari,  and  our  fairy,  are  still  more  nearly  allied,  especially 
by  the  Arabic  pronunciation,  which  changes  p  into  f.  It 
has  been  justly  argued,  that  fairy  is  but  a  modern  word, 
and  meant  formerly  the  region  in  which  the  Fay  lived,  and 
not  the  inhabitant.  This  is  true  ;  but  the  root  may  still 
be  the  same,  and  the  Italian  word  fata,  from  which  it  has 


GENII   AND   FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST.  141 

been  reasonably  derived,  says  nothing  to  the  contrary, 
but  the  reverse  ;  for  ta  or  turn  is  but  a  variety  of  inflec- 
tion. Fata  is  the  Latin  fatum,  or  fate,  whence  come  the 
words  fatua,  fama,  and  fanum  j  words  implying  some- 
thing spoken  or  said,  — 

Aery  tongue6  that  syllable  men's  names. 

Fart  is  the  Latin  to  speak.  All  these  words  come  from 
the  Greek  phaton,  phatis,  phao,  to  say,  which  signifies 
also  to  express,  to  bring  to  light,  and  to  appear  ;  and 
phaos  signifies  light.  Here  is  the  union  of  speech  and 
appearance,  and  thus  from  the  single  root  pha  or  fay  may 
have  originated  the  words  peri  or  fari,  the  English  fairy, 
the  old  English  fay,  which  is  the  fee  of  our  neighbors,  the 
Latin  fatum  or  fate,  even  the  parca>  (another  Latin  word 
for  the  Fates),  the  Greek  phatis,  the  old  Persian  ferooer 
(a  soul,  a  blessed  spirit,  which  is  the  etymology  of  the 
author  of  the  "  Fairy  Mythology "),  and  the  word  fable 
itself,  together  with  fancy,  fair,  famous,  and  what  not.  We 
do  not  wish  to  lay  more  stress  on  this  matter  than  it  is 
worth.  There  is  no  end  to  probabilities,  and  any  thing 
may  be  deduced  from  any  thing  else.  Home  Tooke  de- 
rived King  Pepin  from  the  Greek  pronoun  osper,  and  King 
Jeremiah  from  pickled  cucumber,*  —  a  sort  of  sport  which 
we  recommend  as  an  addition  to  the  stock  at  Christmas. 
But  the  extremes  of  probability  have  their  use  as  well  as 
abuse.  The  spirit  of  words,  truly  studied,  involves  a  deep 
philosophy  and  important  consequences  ;  and  any  thing  is 


*  As  thus,  "Osper,  eper,  oper,  —  diaper,  napkin,  pipkin,  pippin-king,  King 
Pepin."  And  going  the  reverse  way,  "  King  Jeremiah,  Jeremiah  King,  jerkin, 
gerkin,  pickled  cucumber."  Fohi  and  Noah,  says  Goldsmith,  are  evidently 
the  same  ;  for  change  fo  into  no,  and  hi  into  ah,  and  there  you  have  it 


I42  GENII    AND    FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST. 

good  which  tends  to  make  out  a  common  case  for  man- 
kind. 

Pari  is  the  female  genius,  beautiful  and  beneficent. 
D'Herbelot  says  there  are  male  Paries,  and  he  gives  the 
names  of  two  of  them,  Dal  Peri  and  Milan  Schah  Peri, 
who  were  brothers  of  Merjan  Peri,  supposed  to  be  the 
same  as  the  Western  Fairy,  Morgana.  The  truth  seems 
to  be,  that  originally  the  Paries  were  of  no  sex  :  the  poets 
first  distinguished  them  into  male  and  female ;  and  their 
exceeding  beauty  at  last  confined  them  to  the  female  kind. 
We  doubt,  after  all  that  we  see  in  the  writings  of  Sir 
William  Ousely  and  others,  whether  any  poet,  Western 
or  Eastern,  would  now  talk  of  a  male  Pari.  At  any  rate, 
it  would  appear  as  absurd  to  us  of  the  West,  as  if  any- 
body were  to  discover  that  the  three  Graces  were  not  all 
female.  The  Pari  is  the  female  Fairy,  the  lady  of  the 
solitudes,  the  fair  enchantress  who  enamors  all  who  be- 
hold her,  and  is  mightily  inclined  to  be  enamored  herself, 
but  also  to  be  constant  as  well  as  kind.  She  is  the  being 
"  that  youthful  poets  dream  of  when  they  love."  She  in- 
cludes the  magic  of  the  enchantress,  the  supernaturalness 
of  the  fairy,  the  beauty  of  the  angel,  and  the  lovability  of 
the  woman ;  in  short,  is  the  perfection  of  female  sweet- 
ness.* 

Pari  has  been  derived  from  a  word  meaning  winged, 
and  from  another  signifying  beauty.  But  enough  has 
been  said  on  this  point.  We  are  not  aware  of  any  story 
in  which   Paries  are  represented  with  wings  :   but  they 


*  Where  we  say  angel-faced,  the  Persians  say  pari-faced,  pari-peyker^ 
pari-cheker,  pari-rokhsar,  pari-roy,  are  all  terms  to  that  effect.  The  Pary- 
satis  of  the  Greeks  is  justly  supposed  to  be  the  pari-zade,  or pari-born,  of  the 
Persians. 


GENII   AND   FAIRIES   OF   THE    EAST.  1 43 

have  the  power  of  flight.  In  an  Eastern  poem,  mentioned 
by  D'Herbelot,  the  evil  Jinns  in  their  war  with  the  good 
take  some  Paries  captive,  and  hang  them  up  in  cages,  in 
the  highest  trees  they  can  find.  Here  they  are  from  time 
to  time  visited  by  their  companions,  who  bring  them  pre- 
cious odors,  which  serve  a  double  purpose  ;  for  the  Paries 
not  only  feed  upon  odors,  but  are  preserved  by  them  from 
the  approach  of  the  Deevs,  to  whom  a  sweet  scent  is  intol- 
erable. Perfume  gives  an  evil  spirit  a  melancholy,  more 
than  he  is  in  the  habit  of  enduring :  he  suffers  because 
there  is  a  taste  of  heaven  in  it.  It  is  beautiful  to  fancy 
the  Paries  among  the  tops  of  the  trees,  bearing  their  im- 
prisonment with  a  sweet  patience,  and  watching  for  their 
companions.  Now  and  then  comes  a  flight  of  these  hu- 
man doves,  gleaming  out  of  the  foliage ;  or  some  good 
genius  of  the  other  sex  dares  a  peril  in  behalf  of  his  Pari 
love,  and  turns  her  patience  into  joy. 

Paries  feed  upon  odors  ;  but  if  we  are  to  judge  from 
our  sweet  acquaintance,  Pari  Banou,  they  are  not  incapa- 
ble of  sitting  down  to  dinner  with  an  earthly  lover.  The 
gods  lived  upon  odors,  but  they  had  wine  in  heaven,  nectar 
and  ambrosia,  and  furthermore  could  eat  beef  and  pud- 
ding, when  they  looked  in  upon  their  friends  on  earth,  — 
see  the  story  of  Baucis  and  Philemon,  of  Lycaon,  Tanta- 
lus, &c.  It  is  true  Prince  Ahmed  was  helped  by  his  fair 
hostess  to  delicious  meats,  which  he  had  never  before 
heard  of ;  odors,  perhaps,  taking  the  shape  of  venison  or 
pilau  ;  but  he  found  the  same  excellence  in  the  wines  ; 
and  the  fairy  partook  both  of  those  and  the  dessert,  which 
consisted  of  the  choicest  sweetmeats  and  fruits.  The 
reader  will  allow  us  to  read  over  with  him  the  part  of  the 
story  thereabouts.  Such  quarters  of  an  hour  are  not  to  be 
had  always,  especially  in  good  company  ;  and  we  presume 


144  GENII    AND    FAIRIES   OF   THE    EAST. 

all  the  readers  of  these  papers  are  well  met,  and  of  good 
faith.  If  any  one  of  a  different  sort  trespasses  on  our 
premises,  and  does  not  see  the  beauties  we  deal  with,  all 
we  can  say  is,  that  he  is  in  the  usual  condition  of  those 
profane  persons  who  are  punished  when  they  venture  into 
Fairy-land,  by  that  very  inability  of  sight,  which  he,  poor 
fellow,  would  fain  consider  a  mark  of  his  discernment.  — 
So  now  to  our  dinner  with  a  Fairy. 

The  reader  will  recollect,  that  Prince  Ahmed  shot  an 
arrow  a  great  way  among  some  rocks,  and,  upon  finding 
it  was  astonished  to  see  how  far  it  had  gone.  The  arrow 
was  also  lying  flat,  which  looked  as  if  it  had  rebounded 
from  one  of  the  rocks.  This  increased  his  surprise,  and 
made  him  think  there  was  some  mystery  in  the  circum- 
stance. On  looking  about,  he  discovered  an  iron  door. 
He  pushed  it  open  and  went  down  a  passage  in  the  earth. 
On  a  sudden,  "  a  different  light  succeeded  to  that  which  he 
came  out  of;  "  he  entered  a  square,  and  perceived  a  magni- 
ficent palace,  out  of  whieh  a  lady  of  exceeding  beauty 
made  her  appearance  at  the  door,  attended  by  a  troop  of 
others. 

"  As  soon  as  Prince  Ahmed  perceived  the  lady,  he  hast- 
ened to  pay  his  respects  ;  and  the  lady  on  her  part,  seeing 
him  coming,  prevented  him.  Addressing  her  discourse  to 
him  first,  and  raising  her  voice,  she  said  to  him,  '  Come 
near,  Prince  Ahmed  ;  you  are  welcome.' 

"  It  was  no  small  surprise  to  the  prince  to  hear  himself 
named  in  a  palace  he  never  heard  of,  though  so  nigh  his 
father's  capital ;  and  he  could  not  comprehend  how  he 
should  be  known  to  a  lady  who  was  a  stranger  to  him." 

By  the  way,  who  knows  what  our  geologists  may  come 
to,  provided  they  dig  far  enough,  and  are  worthy  ?  Strange 
things  are  surmised  of  the  interior  of  the  earth;    and 


GENII    AND    FAIRIES    OF    THE    EAST.  I45 

Burnet,  now-a-days,  would  have  rubbed  his  hands  to  think 
what  phenomenon  may  turn  up.* 

"  After  the  proper  interchanging  of  amenities  on  either 
side,  the  prince  is  led  into  a  hall,  over  which  is  a  dome  of 
gold  and  onyx.  He  is  seated  on  a  sofa  ;  the  lady  seats  her- 
self by  him,  and  addresses  him  in  the  following  words : 
'You  are  surprised,  you  say,  that  I  should  know  you  and 
not  be  known  by  you  ;  but  you  will  be  no  longer  surprised 
when  I  inform  you  who  I  am.  You  cannot  be  ignorant  that 
your  religion  teaches  you  to  believe  that  the  world  is  inhab- 
ited by  Genii  as  well  as  men  ;  I  am  the  daughter  of  one  of 
the  most  powerful  and  distinguished  of  these  Genii,  and  my 
name  is  Pari  Banou  ;  therefore  you  ought  not  to  wonder 
that  I  know  you,  the  sultan  your  father,  and  the  Princess 
Nouronnihar.  I  am  no  stranger  to  your  loves  or  your 
travels,  of  which  I  could  tell  you  all  the  circumstances, 
since  it  was  I  myself  who  exposed  to  sale  the  artificial 
apple  which  you  bought  at  Samarcande,  the  carpet  which 
Prince  Houssain  met  with  at  Bisnagar,  and  the  tube  which 
Prince  AH  brought  from  Schiraz.  This  is  sufficient  to  let 
you  know  that  I  am  not  unacquainted  with  any  thing  that 
relates  to  you.  The  only  thing  I  have  to  add  is,  that  you 
seemed  to  me  worthy  of  a  more  happy  fate  than  that  of 
possessing  the  Princess  Nouronnihar ;  and,  that  you  might 


*  The  author  of  the  "  Sacred  Theory  of  the  Earth,"  — a  book  as  good  as  a 
romance,  and  containing  passages  of  great  beauty.  We  speak  of  the  Latin 
original.  Burnet  somewhere  has  expressed  a  desire  to  know  more  about 
Satan  —  what  he  is  doing  at  present,  and  how  he  lives.  There  is  a  subterrane- 
ous Fairy-land,  to  which  King  Arthur  is  supposed  to  have  been  withdrawn, 
and  whence  he  is  expected  to  come  again  and  re-establish  his  throne.  Milton 
has  a  fine  allusion  to  this  circumstance  in  his  Latin  poem,  "Mansus,"  v.  81. 
A  poetical  traveller  in  Wales  might  look  at  the  mouth  of  a  cavern,  and  expect 
to  see  the  great  king  with  his  chivalry  coming  up,  blowing  their  trumpets,  into 
the  daylight. 

IO 


I46  GENU    AND    FAIRIES    OF    THE   EAST. 

attain  to  it,  I  was  present  when  you  drew  your  arrow,  and 
foresaw  it  would  not  go  beyond  Prince  Houssain's.  I 
took  it  in  the  air,  and  gave  it  the  necessary  motion  to 
strike  against  the  rocks  near  which  you  found  it.  It  is 
in  your  power  to  avail  yourself  of  the  favorable  opportu- 
nity which  it  presents  to  make  you  happy.'  As  the  fairy, 
Pari  Banou,  pronounced  these  last  words  with  a  different 
tone,  and  looked  at  the  same  time  tenderly  on  Prince 
Ahmed,  with  downcast  eyes  and  a  modest  blush  on  her 
cheeks,  it  was  not  difficult  for  the  prince  to  comprehend 
what  happiness  she  meant.  He  presently  considered  that 
the  Princess  Nouronnihar  could  never  be  his,  and  that 
the  fairy,  Pari  Banou,  excelled  her  infinitely  in  beauty, 
attractions,  agreeableness,  transcendent  wit,  and  as  far  as 
he  could  conjecture  by  the  magnificence  of  the  palace 
where  she  resided,  in  immense  riches.  He  blessed  the 
moment  that  he  thought  of  seeking  after  his  arrow  a  sec- 
ond time,  and  yielding  to  his  inclination,  which  drew  him 
towards  the  new  object  which  had  fired  his  heart,  '  Mad- 
am,' replied  he,  '  should  I,  all  my  life,  have  had  the  hap- 
piness of  being  your  slave,  and  the  admirer  of  the  many 
charms  which  ravish  my  soul,  I  should  think  myself  the 
happiest  of  men.  Pardon  me  the  boldness  which  inspires 
me  to  ask  you  this  favor,  and  do  not  refuse  to  admit  into 
your  court  a  prince  who  is  entirely  devoted  to  you.' 

"  '  Prince,'  answered  the  fairy,  '  as  I  have  been  a  long 
time  my  own  mistress,  and  have  no  dependence  on  my 
parents'  consent,  it  is  not  as  a  slave  I  would  admit  you 
into  my  court,  but  as  master  of  my  person,  and  all  that 
belongs  to  me,  by  pledging  your  faith  to  me  and  taking  me 
to  be  your  wife.  I  hope  you  will  not  take  it  amiss  that  I  an- 
ticipate you  in  making  this  proposal.  I  am,  as  I  said,  mis- 
tress of  my  will ;  and  must  add,  that  the  same  customs 


GENII   AND   FAIRIES    OF   THE   EAST.  147 

are  not  observed  among  fairies  as  among  other  ladies, 
in  whom  it  would  not  have  been  decent  to  have  made 
such  advances :  but  it  is  what  we  do ;  we  suppose  we 
confer  obligation  by  it.' 

"  Prince  Ahmed  made  no  answer  to  this  discourse,  but 
was  so  penetrated  with  gratitude,  that  he  thought  he 
could  not  express  it  better  than  by  coming  to  kiss  the 
hem  of  her  garment,  which  she  would  not  give  him  time 
to  do,  but  presented  her  hand,  which  he  kissed  a  thousand 
times,  and  kept  fast  locked  in  his.  '  Well,  Prince  Ahmed,' 
said  she,  '  will  you  not  pledge  your  faith  to  me,  as  I  do 
mine  to  you?'  —  'Yes,  madam,' replied  the  prince,  in  an 
ecstasy  of  joy,  '  what  can  I  do  better,  and  with  greater 
pleasure  ?  Yes,  my  sultaness,  my  queen,  I  will  give  it 
you  with  my  heart,  without  the  least  reserve.'  '  Then,' 
answered  the  fairy,  '  you  are  my  husband,  and  I  am  your 
wife.  Our  marriages  are  contracted  with  no  other  cere- 
monies, and  yet  are  more  firm  and  indissoluble  than  those 
among  men,  with  all  their  formalities.  But,  as  I  suppose,' 
pursued  she, '  that  you  have  eaten  nothing  to-day,  a  slight 
repast  shall  be  served  up  for  you  while  preparations  are 
making  for  our  nuptial-feast  this  evening,  and  then  I  will 
show  you  the  apartments  of  my  palace,  and  you  shall  judge 
if  this  hall  is  the  smallest  part  of  it.' 

"  Some  of  the  fairy's  women  who  came  into  the  hall  with 
them,  and  guessed  her  intention,  went  immediately  out, 
and  returned  presently  with  some  excellent  meats  and 
wines. 

"  When  the  prince  had  eaten  and  drank  as  much  as  he 
cared  for,  the  fairy,  Pari  Banou,  carried  him  through  all 
the  apartments,  where  he  saw  diamonds,  rubies,  emeralds, 
and  all  sorts  of  fine  jewels,  intermixed  with  pearls,  agate, 
jasper,  porphyry,  and  all  kinds  of  the  most  precious  mar- 


148  GENII   AND   FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST. 

bles  ;  not  to  mention  the  richness  of  the  furniture,  which 
was  inestimable  ;  the  whole  disposed  with  such  profusion, 
that  the  prince,  instead  of  ever  having  seen  any  thing  like 
it,  acknowledged  that  there  could  not  be  any  thing  in  the 
world  that  could  come  up  to  it. 

" '  Prince,'  said  the  fairy,  '  if  you  admire  my  palace  so 
much,  which  is  indeed  very  beautiful,  what  would  you  say 
to  the  palaces  of  the  chief  of  our  Genii,  which  are  made 
much  more  beautiful,  spacious,  and  magnificent  ?  I  could 
also  charm  you  with  my  garden ;  but  we  will  leave  that 
till  another  time.  Night  draws  near,  and  it  will  be  time 
to  go  to  supper.' 

"  The  next  hall  which  the  fairy  led  the  priace  into,  and 
where  the  cloth  was  laid  for  the  feast,  was  the  only  apart- 
ment the  prince  had  not  seen,  and  it  was  not  in  the  least 
inferior  to  the  others.  At  his  entrance  into  it  he  admired 
the  infinite  number  of  wax  candles,  perfumed  with  amber, 
the  multitude  of  which,  instead  of  being  confused,  were 
placed  with  so  just  a  symmetry,  as  formed  an  agreeable 
and  pleasant  sight.  A  large  beaufet  was  set  out  with  all 
sorts  of  gold  plate,  so  finely  wrought,  that  the  workman- 
ship was  much  more  valuable  than  the  weight  of  the  gold. 
Several  choruses  of  beautiful  women,  richly  dressed,  and 
whose  voices  were  ravishing,  began  a  concert,  accompa- 
nied with  all  kinds  of  the  most  harmonious  instruments  he 
had  ever  heard.  When  they  were  set  down  to  table,  the 
fairy,  Pari  Banou,  took  care  to  help  Prince  Ahmed  to  the 
most  delicious  meats,  which  she  named  as  she  invited 
him  to  eat  of  them,  and  which  the  prince  had  never  heard 
of,  but  found  so  exquisite  and  nice,  that  he  commended 
them  in  the  highest  terms,  saying,  that  the  entertainment 
which  she  gave  him  far  surpassed  those  among  men.  He 
found  also  the  same  excellence  in  the  wines,  which  neither 


GENII   AND   FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST.  I49 

he  nor  the  fairy  tasted  till  the  dessert  was  served  up,  which 
consisted  of  the  choicest  sweetmeats  and  fruits. 

"  After  the  dessert,  the  Fairy,  Pari  Banou,  and  Prince 
Ahmed,  rose  from  the  table,  which  was  immediately  car- 
ried away,  and  sat  on  a  sofa,  at  their  ease,  with  cushions 
of  fine  silk,  curiously  embroidered  with  all  sorts  of  large 
flowers,  laid  at  their  backs.  Presently  after,  a  great  num- 
ber of  genii  and  fairies  danced  before  them  to  the  door  of 
the  chamber  where  the  nuptial  bed  was  made,  and  when 
they  came  there,  they  divided  themselves  into  two  rows,  to 
let  them  pass,  and  after  that  retired,  leaving  them  to  go  to 
bed. 

"  The  nuptial  feast  was  continued  the  next  day ;  or  rather, 
the  days  following  the  celebration  were  a  continual  feast, 
which  the  fairy,  Pari  Banou,  who  could  do  it  with  the 
utmost  ease,  knew  how  to  diversify,  by  new  dishes,  new 
meats,  new  concerts,  new  dances,  new  shows,  and  new 
diversions  ;  which  were  all  so  extraordinary,  that  Prince 
Ahmed,  if  he  had  lived  a  thousand  years  among  men 
could  not  have  imagined. 

"  The  fairy's  intention  was  not  only  to  give  the  prince 
essential  proofs  of  the  sincerity  of  her  love,  and  the  vio- 
lence of  her  passion,  by  so  many  ways  ;  but  to  let  him 
see,  that  as  he  had  no  pretensions  at  his  father's  court,  he 
could  meet  with  nothing  comparable  to  the  happiness  he 
enjoyed  with  her,  independent  of  her  beauty  and  her 
charms,  and  to  attach  him  entirely  to  herself,  that  he 
might  never  leave  her.  In  this  scheme  she  succeeded  so 
well,  that  Prince  Ahmed's  passion  was  not  in  the  least 
diminished  by  possession ;  but  increased  so  much,  that, 
if  he  had  been  so  inclined,  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  for- 
bear loving  her." 

This  is  a  pretty  satisfaction  to  the  imagination,  and  good 


I50  GENII   AND   FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST. 

only  can  come  of  it.  They  are  under  a  great  mistake  who 
think  that  romances  and  pictures  of  perfection  do  harm. 
They  may  produce  mounting  impatience  and  partial  neg- 
lect of  duties  here  and  there,  but  in  the  sum  total  they 
give  a  distaste  to  the  sordid,  elevate  our  anger  above 
trifles,  incline  us  to  assist  intellectual  advancement  of 
all  sorts,  and  keep  a  region  of  solitude  and  sweetness  for 
us,  in  which  the  mind  may  retreat  and  recreate  itself,  so  as 
to  return  with  hope  and  gracefulness  to  its  labors.  Imag- 
ination is  the  breathing  room  of  the  heart.  The  whole 
world  of  possibility  is  thrown  open  to  it,  and  the  air  mixes 
with  that  of  heaven. 

Ulysses  did  not  the  less  yearn  to  go  back  to  the  wife  of 
his  bosom,  because  a  goddess  had  lain  there.  Affection- 
ate habit  is  a  luxury  long  drawn  out ;  and  constancy, 
made  sweet  by  desert,  is  a  sort  of  essence  of  immortality 
distilled. 

To  conclude  the  remarks  on  our  story :  Prince  Ah- 
med, to  be  sure,  had  every  reason  to  be  faithful ;  but  we 
feel  it  was  because  a  sweet,  sincere,  and  intelligent  woman 
loved  him,  rather  than  a  wonder-working  fairy.  She  is  a 
Cleopatra  in  what  is  pleasing,  but  she  is  also  as  unlike  her 
as  possible  in  what  is  the  reverse  ;  being  very  different  as 
she  says,  from  her  brother  Schaibar,  who  was  resentful 
and  violent.  Such  is  the  fairy  of  the  East,  the  sweetest 
of  all  fairies,  and  fit  kinswoman,  by  humanity,  to  the  only 
creature  we  like  better,  which  is  the  Flying  Woman  of  our 
friend  Peter  Wilkins.  With  the  former,  we  could  live  for 
ever,  if  disengaged  and  immortal ;  but  with  the  latter, 
somehow,  like  Ulysses,  we  would  rather  die. 

There  remains  one  more  supernatural  being,  the  Ara- 
bian fairy,  who  lives  in  a  well ;  for  so  she  has  been  dis- 
tinguished from  her  more  elegant  sister  of  the   palace. 


GENII   AND    FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST.  151 

The  Arabs,  leading  a  hard  and  unsettled  life,  seem  not  to 
have  had  time,  even  in  imagination,  for  the  more  luxurious 
pictures  of  Persia.  They  had  all  the  imagination  of  home 
feeling,  were  devoted  patriots  and  intense  lovers,  and  have 
poured  forth  some  of  the  most  heart-felt  poetry  in  the 
world.  A  volume  of  poems  might  be  collected  out  of  the 
romance  of  Antar,  unsurpassed  as  effusions  of  passion. 
But  the  total  absence  of  airy  and  preternatural  fiction  in 
their  works  is  remarkable.  When  the  two  nations  became 
united,  and  the  successors  of  Mahomet  shifted  their  throne 
from  their  old  barren  sands  to  the  luxurious  halls  of  Bag- 
dad, the  mythologies  of  their  poets  gradually  became  con- 
founded ;  and  it  is  difficult  to  pronounce,  after  all,  how  far 
the  supposed  Arabian  fairy  differs  from  the  Pari,  her  sister ; 
how  many  wonders  she  might  have  drawn  out  of  her  well, 
or  how  far  the  Pari  could  not  inhabit  a  hole  in  the  well 
on  occasion,  as  the  fairies  of  Italy  do  in  the  old  stones  of 
Fiesole.  She  was,  no  doubt,  distinct  originally,  a  coarser 
breed,  like  the  gnome  of  the  desert  compared  with  the 
ladies  of  the  court  of  Darius  ;  but  the  distinction  seems 
hardly  to  have  survived.  If  Maimoune  lives  in  a  well,  we 
have  seen  that  Denhasch  pronounced  her  charming  ;  and 
though  we  might  regard  this  as  the  flattery  of  a  devil,  the 
Fairy  herself  gives  us  to  understand  that  she  was  a  good 
spirit,  one  of  those  who  submitted  to  Solomon  ;  therefore 
charming  by  implication,  and  at  all  events  mixed  up  with 
the  spirits  of  Persia.  The  Jinns,  male  and  female,  are  all 
capital  architects,  who  can  make  a  palace  in  a  twinkling 
for  others.  We  can  hardly  doubt  they  can  do  as  much 
for  themselves  ;  and  that  Maimoune,  if  she  had  wished  to 
please  a  lover,  could  have  raised  as  splendid  a  house  of 
reception  for  him  as  Banou. 

The  spiritual  beings  of  the  East  then  may,  perhaps, 


152  GENII   AND    FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST. 

safely  be  classed  as  follows,  according  to  the  most  re- 
ceived ideas :  — 

The  Deev,  or  evil  genius. 

The  Jinn,  or  good  genius,  if  not  otherwise  qualified. 

The  Pari,  or  good  female  genius,  always  beneficent  and 
beautiful. 

Individuals  of  all  these  classes  are  permitted  to  roam 
about  the  world,  and  reside  in  particular  places  ;  but  their 
chief  residence,  or  Fairy-land,  is  understood  to  be  in  Jin- 
nistan,  or  the  place  of  the  Genii,  which  is  situated  on  the 
Greek  mountain  of  Kaf,  and  divided  into  what  may  be 
called  Good-land  and  Bad-land,  or  the  domains  of  the 
good,  and  the  domains  of  the  rebellious  Genii.  In  the 
former  is  the  province  of  the  good  Genii,  the  land  of  Sha- 
dukam,  or  pleasure  and  desire  :  —  and  the  Cities  Juharbad, 
or  the  City  of  Jewels  ;  —  and  Amberhabad,  the  City  of  Am- 
bergris. In  the  latter  stands  Ahermanhabad,  the  City  of 
Aherman,  or  the  Evil  Principle,  over  which  reigns  the  bad 
King  Arzhenk,  a  personage  with  a  half-human  body  and 
the  head  of  a  bull.  He  is  a  connoisseur,  and  has  a  gallery 
of  pictures  containing  portraits  of  all  the  different  sorts  of 
creatures  before  Adam. 

All  Genii,  bad  and  good,  being  subjected  in  some  sort 
to  the  human  race,  whom  they  all  in  the  first  instance 
agreed  not  to  worship,  are  compellable  by  the  invocations 
of  magic,  and  forced  to  appear  in  the  service  of  particular 
rings  and  talismans.  In  this  they  resemble  the  Genii  of 
the  Alexandrian  Platonists  and  the  Cabala.  Sometimes  a 
man  possesses  a  ring  without  knowing  its  value,  and  hap- 
pening to  give  it  a  rub,  is  shocked  by  the  apparition  of  a 
giant,  who  in  a  tone  of  thunder  tells  him  he  is  his  humble 
servant,  and  wants  to  know  his  pleasure.  Invocations  must 
be  practised  after  their  particular  form  and  letter,  or  the 


GENII    AND    FAIRIES    OF    THE    EAST.  1 53 

Genius  becomes  riotous  instead  of  obedient,  and  is  perhaps 
the  death  of  you  ;  and  at  least  gives  you  a  cuff  of  the  ear, 
enough  to  fell  a  dromedar)7.  They  transport  people  whith- 
ersoever they  please  ;  make  nothing  of  building  a  house* 
full  of  pictures  and  furniture,  in  the  course  of  a  night ;  and 
will  put  a  sultan  in  their  pockets  for  you,  if  you  desire  it. 
But  if  not  your  servants,  they  are  dangerous  acquaint- 
ances, and  it  is  difficult  to  be  on  one's  guard  against  them. 
You  must  take  care,  for  instance,  how  you  throw  the  shells 
about  when  you  are  eating  nuts,  otherwise  an  unfortunate 
husk  to  put  out  the  eye  of  one  of  their  invisible  children, 
and  for  this  you  will  suffer  death  unless  you  can  repeat 
poems  or  fine  stories.  Numbers  of  Genii  have  remained 
imprisoned  in  brazen  vessels  ever  since  the  time  of  Solo- 
mon, and  it  is  not  always  safe  to  deliver  them.  It  is  a 
moot  point  whether  they  will  make  a  king  of  you  for  it,  or 
kick  you  into  the  sea.  The  Genius  whom  the  fisherman 
sets  free  in  the  "Arabian  Nights,"  gives  an  account  of  his 
feelings  on  this  matter,  highly  characteristic  of  the  nature 
of  these  fairy  personages  :  — 

"  '  During  the  first  hundred  years'  imprisonment,'  says 
he,  '  I  swore,  that  if  any  one  should  deliver  me  before  the 
hundred  years  expired,  I  would  make  him  rich,  even  after 
his  death,  but  the  century  ran  out,  and  nobody  did  me 
that  good  office.  During  the  second,  I  made  an  oath  that 
I  would  open  all  the  treasures  of  the  earth  to  any  one  that 
should  set  me  at  liberty,  but  with  no  better  success.  In 
the  third,  I  promised  to  make  my  deliverer  a  potent 
monarch,  to  grant  him  every  day  three  requests,  of  what- 
ever nature  they  might  be  ;  but  this  century  ran  out  as 
the  two  former,  and  I  continued  in  prison  ;  at  last,  being 
angry,  or  rather  mad,  to  find  myself  a  prisoner  so  long, 
I  swore  that,  if  afterwards  any  one  should  deliver  me,  I 


154  GENII    AND    FAIRIES    OF   THE    EAST. 

would  kill  him  without  mercy,  and  grant  him  no  other 
favor  but  to  choose  what  kind  of  death  he  would  have  ; 
and,  therefore,  since  you  have  delivered  me  to-day,  I  give 
you  that  choice.'  " 

The  mode  in  which  the  Genii  emerge  from  these  brazen 
vessels  is  very  striking.  The  spirit  into  which  they  have 
been  condensed  expands  as  it  issues  forth,  and  makes  an 
enormous  smoke,  which  again  compresses  into  a  body, 
black  and  gigantic  ;  and  the  Genius  is  before  you.  He  is 
in  general  a  smoke  of  a  weaker  turn  than  our  friend 
just  alluded  to.  If  we  are  to  believe  the  story  of  the 
Brazen  City  in  the  "  New  Arabian  Nights,"  whole  beds 
of  vessels,  containing  genuine  condensed  spirits  of  Jinn, 
were  to  be  found  in  a  certain  bay  on  the  coast  of  Africa. 
Deevs  were  as  plenty  as  oysters.  A  sultan  had  a  few 
brought  him,  and  opening  one  after  the  other,  the  giant 
vapor  issued  forth,  crying  out,  "  Pardon,  pardon,  great 
Solomon  ;  I  will  never  rebel  more." 

Kaf  is  Caucasus,  the  "great  stony  girdle."  The  Per- 
sians supposed  it,  and  do  so  still,  to  run  round  the  earth, 
enclosing  it  like  a  ring.  The  earth  itself  stands  on  a  great 
sapphire,  the  reflection  of  which  causes  the  blue  of  the 
sky ;  and  when  the  sapphire  moves  there  is  an  earthquake, 
or  some  other  convulsion  of  nature.  On  this  mountain 
the  Jinns  reign  and  revel  after  their  respective  fashions  ; 
and  there  is  eternal  war  between  the  good  and  the  bad. 
Formerly  the  good  Genii,  when  hard  pressed,  used  to 
apply  to  an  earthly  hero  to  assist  them.  The  exploits  of 
Rustam,  before  mentioned,  and  of  the  ancient  Tahmuras, 
surnamed  Deev-Bend  or  the  Deev-Binder,  form  the  most 
popular  subjects  of  Persian  heroic  poetry. 

Kaf  will  gradually  be  undone,  and  the  place  of  sapphire 
be  not  found  ;  but  the  blue  of  the  sky  will  remain ;  and 


THE   SATYR   OF   MYTHOLOGY.  1 55 

till  the  Persian  can  expound  the  mystery  of  the  cheek  he 
loves,  and  know  the  first  cause  of  the  roses  which  make  a 
bower  for  it,  he  will  still,  if  he  is  wise,  retain  his  Pari  and 
his  enchanted  palace,  and  encourage  his  mistress  to  re- 
semble the  kind  faces  that  may  be  looking  at  her. 


THE  SATYR  OF  MYTHOLOGY  AND 
THE  POETS. 

IE  lay  before  our  readers  the  portrait  of  a  very 
eminent  half  ox  four-fifths  man,  an  old  friend 
of  the  poets,  particularly  of  the  sequestered 
and  descriptive  order,  and  constantly  alluded 
to  in  all  modern  as  well  as  ancient  quarters 
poetical.  He  is  alive,  not  only  in  Virgil,  and  Theocritus, 
and  Spenser,  but  in  Wordsworth,  in  Keats,  and  Shelley, 
and  in  the  pages  of  "  Blackwood "  and  the  "  London 
Journal." 

We  keep  the  public  in  mind,  from  time  to  time,  that  one 
of  the  objects  of  the  "  London  Journal "  is  to  bring  unedu- 
cated readers  of  taste  and  capacity  acquainted  with  the 
pleasures  of  those  who  are  educated  ;  and  we  write  articles 
of  this  description  accordingly,  in  a  spirit  intended  to  be 
not  unacceptable  to  either.  Enter,  therefore,  the  Satyr, — 
as  in  one  of  the  Prologues  to  an  old  play.  By  and  by,  we 
shall  give  a  Triton,  a  Nymph,  &c,  &c,  and  so  on  through 
all  the  gentle  populace  of  fiction — plebe  degli,  dei,  as 
Tasso  calls  them,  —  the  "  common  people  of  the  gods." 


I56  THE    SATYR    OF    MYTHOLOGY. 

Such,  we  hope,  in  future  times,  —  or  worthy,  rather,  of 
such  appellation,  —  will  be  all  the  people  of  the  earth,  — 
their  poetry  in  common,  their  education  in  common,  know- 
ledge and  its  divine  pleasures  being  as  cheap  as  daisies 
in  the  mead. 

The  Satyr  (not  always,  but  generally)  is  a  goat  below 
the  waist,  and  a  man  above,  with  a  head  in  which  the  two 
beings  are  united.  He  has  horns,  pointed  ears,  and  a 
beard ;  and  there  is  just  enough  humanity  in  his  face  to 
make  the  look  of  the  inferior  being  more  observable.  The 
expression  is  drawn  up  to  the  height  of  the  salient  and 
wilful.  He  is  a  merry  brute  of  a  demigod  ;  and  when  not 
sleeping  in  the  grass,  is  for  ever  in  motion,  dancing,  after 
his  quaint  fashion,  and  butting  when  he  fights.  He  goes 
in  herds,  though  he  is  often  found  straying.  His  haunt  is 
in  the  woods,  where  he  makes  love  to  the  Dryads  and 
other  nymphs,  not  always  with  their  good-will. 

When  he  gets  old  he  takes  to  drinking,  grows  fat,  and 
is  called  a  Silenus,  after  the  most  eminent  gorbelly  of  his 
race :  and  then  he  becomes  oracular  in  his  drink,  and 
disburses  the  material  philosophy  which  his  way  of  life 
has  taught  him.  He  is  not  immortal,  but  has  a  long  life 
as  well  as  a  merry ;  some  say  a  thousand  years  :  others, 
many  thousand.  A  thousand  years,  according  to  Aristotle, 
is  the  duration  both  of  the  Satyr  and  the  Nymph. 

The  Faun,  though  often  confounded  with  the  Satyr,  and 
supposed  by  some  to  be  nothing  but  a  Latin  version  of  him, 
is  generally  taken  by  the  moderns  for  a  Satyr  mitigated 
and  more  human.  Goat's  feet  are  not  necessary  to  him. 
He  can  be  content  with  a  tail,  and  two  little  budding 
horns,  like  a  kid. 

"  How  the  Satyrs  originated,"  quoth  the  "  serious  "  but 
not  very  "  sage  "  Natalis  Comes,  "  or  of  what  parents  they 


THE    SATYR    OF    MYTHOLOGY.  1 57 

were  begotten,  or  where  or  when  they  began  to  exist,  or 
for  what  reason  they  were  held  to  be  gods  by  antiquity  ; 
neither  have  I  happed  upon  any  creditable  ancient  who 
can  inform  me,  nor  can  I  make  it  out  myself."  He  says 
he  takes  no  heed  of  the  opinion  of  those  who  suppose 
them  to  have  been  the  children  of  Saturn  or  Faunus. 
Pliny,  he  tells  us,  speaks  of  Satyrs,  as  certain  animals  in 
the  Indian  Mountains,  of  great  swiftness,  going  on  all- 
fours,  but  with  a  human  aspect,  and  running  upright. 
Furthermore,  Pausanias  mentions  one  Euphemus  of  Caria, 
who  coming  upon  a  cluster  of  "desert  "  islands  in  the 
extreme  parts  of  the  sea,  and  being  forced  by  a  tempest  to 
alight  on  one  of  them  called  Satyras,  found  it  inhabited  by 
people  of  a  red  color,  with  tails  not  much  inferior  to  those 
of  horses.  These  gentlemen  invaded  the  ships  of  their 
new  acquaintance,  and  without  saying  a  word,  began  help- 
ing themselves  to  what  they  liked.  Finally,  Pomponius 
Mela  speaks  of  certain  islands  beyond  Mount  Atlas,  in 
which  lights  were  seen  at  night,  and  a  great  sound  was 
heard  of  drums  and  cymbals  and  pipes,  though  nobody 
was  to  be  seen  by  day  ;  and  these  islands  were  said  to  be 
inhabited  by  Satyrs.  To  which  beareth  testimony  the 
famous  Hanno  the  Carthaginian.* 

Boccaccio,  in  his  treatise  "De  Montibus,"  appears  to 
have  transferred  these  islands  to  Mount  Atlas  itself;  of 
which  he  says  (dwelling  upon  the  subject  with  his  usual 
romantic  fondness)  that,  "  such  a  depth  of  silence  is 
reported  to  prevail  there  by  day,  that  none  approach  it 
without  a  certain  horror,  and  a  feeling  of  some  divine 
presence ;  but  at  night-time,  like  heaven,  it  is  lit  up 
with  many   lights,   and    resounds    with    the    songs   and 

*  See  all  these  authorities  in  Natalis  Comes'  "  Mythologia,"  p.  304. 


158  THE    SATYR    OF    MYTHOLOGY. 

cymbals,  the  pipes  and  whistling  reeds  of  ^Egipans  and 
Satyrs."  * 

The  same  writer,  speaking  of  the  opinion  that  Satyrs 
were  goat-footed  homunciones,  or  little  men,  tells  the 
story  of  St.  Anthony :  "  who  searching  through  the  deserts 
of  the  Thebais  for  the  most  holy  eremite  Paul,  did  behold 
one  of  them,  and  question  him  :  the  which  made  answer, 
that  he  was  mortal ;  and  that  he  was  one  of  the  people, 
bordering  thereabouts,  whom  the  Gentiles  led  away  by  a 
vain  error,  did  worship  as  Fauns  and  Satyrs."  "  Other 
authors,"  he  says,  "  esteemed  them  to  be  men  of  the 
woods,  and  called  them  Incubi,  or  Ficarii  (Fig-eaters)." 
We  here  see  who  had  the  merit  of  it  when  figs  were 
stolen. 

Chaucer  takes  the  Satyr  for  an  incubus,  probably  from 
this  passage  of  his  favorite  author.  Speaking  of  the  friar, 
whose  office  it  was  to  go  about  blessing  people's  grounds 
and  houses  (which  was  the  reason,  he  says,  why  there 
were  no  longer  any  fairies),  he  adds,  in  his  pleasant  man- 
ner:  — 

"  Women  may  now  go  safely  up  and  doun  :  — 
In  every  bush,  and  under  every  tree, 
There  is  non  other  Incubus  but  he." 

Wife  of  Bath's  Tale. 

But  the  most  "particular  fellow"  on  this  subject  is  Phi- 
lostratus ;  who,  among  the  wild  stories  which  he  relates 
with  such  gravity  of  Apollonius  the  Tyanaean,  has  this, 
the  wildest  of  them  all,  and,  in  his  opinion  the  most 
weighty.  As  the  account  is  amusing,  we  will  extract 
nearly  the  whole  of  it :  — 

"After  visiting,"  says  he,  "the  cataracts  (of  the  Nile), 

*  At  the  end  of  his  "  Genealogia  Deorum." 


THE    SATYR   OF   MYTHOLOGY.  1 59 

Apollonius  and  his  companions  stopped  in  a  small  village 
in  Ethiopia,  where,  whilst  they  were  at  supper,  they  amused 
themselves  with  a  variety  of  conversation,  both  grave  and 
gay.  On  a  sudden  was  heard  a  confused  uproar,  as  if 
from  the  women  of  the  village  exhorting  one  another  to 
seize  and  pursue.  They  called  to  the  men  for  assistance, 
who  immediately  sallied  forth,  snatching  up  sticks  and 
stones,  with  whatever  other  weapons  they  chanced  to  find. 
.  .  .  All  this  hubbub  arose  from  a  Satyr  having  made  his 
appearance,  who  for  ten  months  past  had  infested  the 
village.  .  .  .  The  moment  Apollonius  perceived  his  friends 
were  alarmed  at  this,  he  said,  '  Don't  be  terrified.  .  .  . 
There  is  but  one  remedy  to  be  used  in  cases  of  such  kind 
of  insolence,  and  is  what  Midas  had  recourse  to.  He  was 
himself  of  the  race  of  Satyrs,  as  appeared  plainly  by  his 
ears.  A  Satyr  once  invited  himself  to  his  house,  on  the 
ground  of  consanguinity,  and  whilst  he  was  his  guest, 
libelled  his  ears  in  a  copy  of  verses,  which  he  set  to  music, 
and  played  on  his  harp.  Midas,  who  was  instructed,  I 
think,  by  his  mother,  learnt  from  her  that  if  a  Satyr  was 
made  drunk  with  wine  and  fell  asleep,  he  recovered  his 
senses  and  became  quite  a  new  creature.  A  fountain 
happening  to  be  near  his  palace,  he  mixed  it  with  wine,  to 
which  he  sent  the  Satyr,  who  drank  it  till  he  was  quite 
overcome  with  it.  Now  to  show  you  that  this  is  not  all 
mere  fable,  let  us  go  to  the  governor  of  the  village,  and  if 
the  inhabitants  have  any  wine,  let  us  make  the  Satyr  drink, 
and  I  will  be  answerable  for  what  happened  in  the  case  of 
the  Satyr  of  Midas.'  All  were  willing  to  try  the  experi- 
ment ;  and  immediately  four  Egyptian  amphoras  of  wine 
were  poured  into  the  pond,  in  which  the  cattle  of  the 
village  were  accustomed  to  drink.  Apollonius  invited  the 
Satyr  to  drink,  and  added,  along  with  the  invitation,  some 


l6o  THE    SATYR    OF   MYTHOLOGY. 

private  menaces,  in  case  of  refusal.  The  Satyr  did  not 
appear,  nevertheless  the  wine  sank,  as  if  it  was  drank. 
When  the  pond  was  emptied,  Apollonius  said,  '  Let  us  offer 
libations  to  the  Satyr,  who  is  now  fast  asleep.'  After  say- 
ing this,  he  carried  the  men  of  the  village  to  the  cave  of 
the  Nymphs,  which  was  not  more  than  the  distance  of  a 
plethron  from  the  hamlet,  where,  after  showing  them  the 
Satyr  asleep,  he  ordered  them  to  give  him  no  ill-usage, 
either  by  beating  or  abusing  him  :  '  For,'  said  he,  '  I  will 
answer  for  his  good  behavior  for  the  time  to  come.'  This 
is  the  action  of  Apollonius,  which,  by  Jupiter,  I  consider 
as  what  gave  greatest  lustre  to  his  travels,  and  which  was, 
in  truth,  their  greatest  feat.  Any  one  who  has  perused 
the  letter  which  he  wrote  to  a  dissipated  young  man, 
wherein  he  tells  him  he  had  tamed  a  Satyr  in  Ethiopia, 
must  call  to  mind  this  story.  Consequently,  no  doubt  can 
now  remain  of  the  existence  of  Satyrs.  .  .  .  When  I  was 
myself  in  Lemnos,  I  remember  one  of  my  contemporaries, 
whose  mother,  they  said,  was  visited  by  a  Satyr,  formed 
according  to  the  traditional  accounts  we  have  of  that  race 
of  beings.  He  wore  a  deerskin  on  his  shoulders,  which 
exactly  fitted  him,  the  forefeet  of  which,  encircling  his 
neck,  were  fastened  to  his  breast.  But  of  this  I  shall  say 
no  more,  as  I  am  sensible  credit  is  due  to  experience,  as 
well  as  to  me."  * 

It  is  clear,  from  all  these  authorities,  that  various  cir- 
cumstances might  have  given  rise  to  the  idea  of  Satyrs. 
The  Great  Ape  species  alone,  which,  like  the  monkeys  in 
Africa,  might  easily  be  supposed  to  be  a  race  of  men  too 
idle  to  work,  and  holding  their  tongues  to  avoid  it,  would 


*  "  Life  of  Apollonius  of  Tyana,"  translated  from  the  Greek  of  Philostratus, 
by  the  Rev.  Edward  Berwick,     p.  348. 


THE    SATYR    OF    MYTHOLOGY.  l6l 

be  sufficient  to  suggest  the  fancy  to  an  imaginative  people. 
The  Satyr  Islands  of  Pausanias  are  evidently  islands  fre- 
quented by  apes,  or  rather  baboons  ;  unless,  indeed,  we 
are  to  believe  with  Monboddo,  that  men  once  had  tails  ; 
which  is  hardly  a  greater  distinction  from  some  men  with- 
out them,  than  a  philosopher  is  from  a  savage.  Orang 
Outang  signifies  a  wild  man  ;  and  Linnaeus  has  called  the 
Great  Ape  the  Ape  Satyr  (Simia  Satyrus).  Again,  there 
have  been  real  wild  men  ;  and  a  single  one  of  these,  such 
as  Peter  the  Wild  Boy,  would  people  a  country  like  Greece 
with  Satyrs. 

But  it  is  not  necessary  to  recur  to  palpable  beings  for  a 
poetical  stock.  A  sound,  a  shadow,  a  look  of  something 
in  the  dark,  was  enough  to  make  them  ;  and  if  this  had 
not  been  found,  they  would  still  have  been  fancied.  Satyrs, 
in  an  allegorical  sense,  are  the  animal  spirits  of  the  crea- 
tion, its  exuberance,  its  natural  health  and  vigor,  its  head- 
long tendency  to  reproduction.  In  a  superstitious  and 
popular  point  of  view,  they  were  the  spirits  of  the  woods, 
a  branch  of  the  universal  family  of  genii  and  fairies. 
Finally,  in  the  great  world  of  poetry,  they  partake,  on 
both  these  accounts,  of  whatever  has  been  said  or  done 
for  them,  that  remains  interesting  to  the  imagination ; 
and  are  still  to  be  found  there,  immortal  as  their  poets. 
As  long  as  there  is  a  mystery  in  the  world,  and  men  are 
unable  to  affirm  what  beings  may  not  exist,  so  long  poetry 
will  have  what  existence  it  pleases,  and  the  mind  will  have 
a  corner  in  which  to  entertain  them.  Therefore,  "  the 
sage  and  serious  Spenser  "  tells  us  wisely  of 

"  The  wood-god's  breed  which  must  for  ever  last." 

In  no  part  of  the  world  of  poetry  were  they  ever  more 

alive  or  lasting,  than  in  the  woods  of  his  "  Faerie  Queene." 

ii 


1 62  THE    SATYR    OF    MYTHOLOGY. 

You  have,  indeed,  a  stronger  sense  of  them  in  his  pages, 
than  in  the  works  of  antiquity.  The  ancient  poets  appear 
to  have  been  too  close  at  hand  with  them.  The  familiarity, 
though  of  a  religious  sort,  had  in  it  something  of  contempt. 
Spenser  is  always  remote,  —  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  po- 
etry ;  and  thither  shall  he  take  us  to  meet  them.  Here  they 
are,  on  a  bright  morning,  in  the  thick  of  their  glades.  Una 
is  in  distress,  and  has  cried  out,  so  that  her  voice  is  heard 
throughout  the  woods. 

"  A  troope  of  Faunes  and  Satyres,  far  away 
Within  the  wood,  were  dancing  in  a  rownd, 
•  Whiles  old  Sylvanus  slept  in  shady  arber  sownd : 

Who  when  they  heard  that  pitteous,  strained  voice, 
In  haste  forsooke  their  rurall  merriment, 
And  ran  towards  the  far  rebownded  noyce, 
To  weet  what  wight  so  loudly  did  lament 
Unto  the  place  they  came  incontinent : 
Whom  when  the  raging  Sarazin  espyde, 
A  rude,  mishappen,  monstrous  rablement, 
Whose  like  he  never  saw,  he  durst  not  byde ; 
But  got  his  ready  steed,  and  fast  away  gan  ryde. 

Such  fearefull  fitt  assaid  her  trembling  hart, 
Ne  word  to  speake,  ne  joynt  to  move,  she  had. 
The  salvage  nation  feele  her  secret  smart, 
And  read  her  sorrow  in  her  count'nance  sad ; 
Their  frowning  forheades,  with  rough  homes  yclad 
And  rustick  horror,  all  asyde  doe  lay ; 
And,  gently  grenning,  shew  a  semblance  glad 
To  comfort  her ;  and,  feare  to  put  away, 
Their  backward-bent  knees  teach  her  humbly  to  obay. 

The  doubtfull  damzell  dare  not  yet  committ 
Her  single  person  to  their  barbarous  truth ; 
But  still  twixt  feare  and  hope  amazd  does  sitt, 
Late  learnd  what  harme  to  hasty  truth  ensu'th ; 
They  in  compassion  of  her  tender  youth 
And  wonder  of  her  beautie  soverayne, 
Are  wonne  with  pitty  and  unwonted  ruth ; 


THE    SATYR   OF   MYTHOLOGY.  1 63 

And,  all  prostrate  upon  the  lowly  playne, 
Doe  kisse  her  feete,  and  fawne  on  her  with  count'nance  feyne. 

Their  harts  she  ghesseth  by  their  humble  guise, 
And  yieldes  her  to  extremitie  of  time : 
So  from  the  ground  she  fearelesse  doth  arise, 
And  walketh  forth  without  suspect  of  crime : 
They,  all  as  glad  as  birdes  of  joyous  pryme, 
Thence  lead  her  forth,  about  her  dauncing  round, 
Shouting,  and  singing  all  a  shepheard's  ryme  ; 
And,  with  greene  branches  strowing  all  the  ground, 
Do  worship  her  as  queene,  with  olive  girlond  cround. 

And  all  the  way  their  merry  pipes  they  sound, 
That  all  the  woods  with  doubled  eccho  ring ; 
And  with  their  horned  feet  doe  weare  the  ground, 
Leaping  like  wanton  kids  in  pleasant  spring. 
So  towards  old  Sylvanus  her  they  bring ; 
Who,  with  the  noyse  awaked,  commeth  out 
To  weet  the  cause,  his  weake  steps  governing 
And  aged  limbs  on  cypresse  stadle  stout ; 
And  with  an  yvie  twyne  his  waste  is  girt  about. 

The  wood-borne  people  fell  before  her  flat, 
And  worship  her  as  goddesse  of  the  wood  ; 
And  old  Sylvanus  self  bethinkes  not,  what 
To  think  of  wight  so  fayre  ;  but  gazing  stood 
In  doubt  to  deeme  her  born  of  earthly  brood. 

The  wooddy  nymphes,  faire  Hamadryades, 
Her  to  behold  doe  thether  runne  apace ; 
And  all  the  troupe  of  light-foot  Naiades 
Flocke  all  about  to  see  her  lovely  face." 

Book  I.  canto  6. 

Spenser  has  a  knight  among  his  chivalry,  who  was  the 
son  of  a  Satyr  by  the  wife  of  a  country  gentleman,  one 
Therion  (or  Brute)  by  name, — a  severe  insinuation  on 
the  part  of  the  gentle  poet :  — 

"  A  loose  unruly  swayne, 
Who  had  more  joy  to  raunge  the  forrest  wyde, 
And  chase  the  salvage  beast  with  busie  payne, 
Then  serve  his  ladie's  love." 


164  THE   SATYR   OF   MYTHOLOGY. 

Perhaps  the  poet  intended  a  hint  to  the  squires  of  his 
time.  He  tells  us  of  another  wife,  who  had  a  considerable 
acquaintance  among  the  wood-gods.  It  is  not  so  easy  to 
relate  her  story  ;  but  she  would  be  a  charming  person  by 
the  time  she  was  thirty,  and  make  a  delicate  heart  con- 
tent !  His  account  of  her  is  certainly  intended  as  a  les- 
son to  old  gentlemen. 

"  The  gentle  lady,  loose  at  random  lefte, 
The  greene-wood  long  did  walke,  and  wander  wide 
At  wilde  adventure,  like  a  forlorne  wefte ; 
Till  on  a  daye  the  Satyres  her  espide 
Straying  alone  withouten  groome  or  guide : 
Her  up  they  tooke,  and  with  them  home  her  ledd, 
With  them  as  housewife  ever  to  abide, 
To  milk  their  goats,  and  make  them  cheese  and  bredd." 

She  forgets  her  old  husband  Malbecco,  who  has  just  ar- 
rived at  the  spot  where  she  lives,  — 

"  And  eke  Sir  Paridell,  all  were  he  deare, 
Who  from  her  went  to  seek  another  lott, 
And  now  by  fortune  was  arrived  here. 

Soone  as  the  old  man  saw  Sir  Paridell, 

(who  was  the  person  that  had  taken  his  wife  from  him). 

He  fainted,  and  was  almost  dead  with  feare, 
Ne  word  he  had  to  speake,  his  griefe  to  tell, 
But  to  him  louted  low,  and  greeted  goodly  well ; 

And,  after,  asked  him  for  Hellenore. 
'  I  take  no  keepe  of  her,'  sayd  Paridell, 
'  She  wonneth  in  the  forest,  there  before.  * 

So  forth  he  rode  as  his  adventure  fell." 

A  great  noise  is  afterwards  heard  in  the  woods,  of  bag- 
pipes and  "  shrieking  hubbubs  ;  "  the  old  man  hides  in  a 
bush  ;  and  after  awhile 


THE    SATYR    OF   MYTHOLOGY.  1 65 

"  The  jolly  Satyres  foil  of  fresh  delight 
Came  dauncing  forth,  and  with  them  nimbly  ledd 
Faire  Hellenore,  with  girlonds  all  bespredd, 
Whom  their  May-lady  they  had  newly  made : 

She,  proude  of  that  new  honour  which  they  redd, 

And  of  their  lovely  fellowship  full  glade, 

Daunst  lively,  and  her  face  did  with  a  Unwell  shade." 

What  a  sunny  picture  is  in  this  line ! 

"  The  silly  man,  that  in  the  thickett  lay 
Saw  all  this  goodly  sport,  and  grieved  sore ; 
Yet  durst  he  not  against  it  do  or  say, 
But  did  his  hart  with  bitter  thoughts  engore, 
To  see  th'  unkindness  of  his  Hellenore. 
All  day  they  daunced  with  great  lustyhedd, 
And  with  their  horned  feet  the  greene  grass  wore ; 
The  wiles  their  gotes  upon  the  brouzes  fedd, 
Till  drouping  Phcebus  gan  to  hyde  his  golden  hedd. 

Tho  up  they  gan  their  merry  pypes  to  trusse, 
And  all  their  goodly  heardes  did  gather  rownd." 

The  old  gentleman  creeps  to  his  wife's  bed's-head  at  night, 
and  endeavors  to  persuade  her  to  go  away  with  him  ;  but 
she  is  deaf  to  all  he  can  say ;  so  in  the  passion  of  his 
misery,  and  supernatural  strength  of  his  very  weakness, 
he  runs  away,  —  "  runs  with  himself  away"  —  till,  under 
the  most  appalling  circumstances,  he  undergoes  a  trans- 
formation into  Jealousy  itself!  a  poetical  flight,  the  dar- 
ingness  of  which  can  only  be  equalled  (and  vindicated,  as 
it  is)  by  the  mastery  of  its  execution.  See  the  passage  ; 
which,  though  a  half-allegory,  is  calculated  to  affect  the 
feelings  of  the  poetical  reader,  almost  as  much  as  Burley 
and  his  cavern  in  "  Old  Mortality  "  do  readers  in  general. 
It  is  at  the  end  of  Canto  X.  book  3. 

Spenser  has  a  story  of  "  Foolish  God  Faunus,"  who 
comes  on  Diana  when  she  is  bathing ;  for  which  he  is  put 


1 66  THE    SATYR    OF    MYTHOLOGY. 

into  a  deerskin,  and  she  and  her  nymphs  hunt  him  through 
wood  and  dale.  Fauns  and  Satyrs,  it  is  to  be  observed, 
are  represented  as  wise  or  foolish,  according  as  the  poet 
allegorizes  the  elements  of  a  country  life,  and  the  reflec- 
tions, or  clownish  impulses,  of  sequestered  people.  The 
Faun,  in  particular,  who  was  the  more  oracular  of  the  two, 
might  be  supposed  either  to  speak  from  his  own  knowl- 
edge, or  to  be  merely  the  channel  of  a  higher  one,  and  so 
to  partake  of  that  reverend  character  of  fatuity,  which  is 
ascribed  in  some  countries  to  idiots.  The  Satyr  was  more 
conscious  and  petulant :  he  waited  more  especially  upon 
Bacchus  ;  was  loud  and  saucy ;  may  easily  be  supposed 
to  have  been  noisiest  and  most  abusive  at  the  time  of 
grapes ;  and  it  is  to  him,  we  think,  and  him  alone  (what- 
ever learned  distinctions  have  been  made  between  satyri 
and  saturce,  or  the  fruit  which  he  got  together,  and  him 
who  got  them),  that  the  origin  of  the  word  satire  is  to  be 
traced ;  that  is  to  say,  satire  was  such  free  and  abusive 
speech,  as  the  vintagers  pelted  people  with,  just  as  they 
might  with  the  contents  of  their  baskets. 

To  make  Satyr,  therefore,  clever  or  clownish,  or  both,  just 
as  it  suits  the  writer's  purpose,  is  in  good  keeping.  To  make 
him  revengeful  for  not  having  his  will,  is  equally  good,  as 
Tasso  has  done  in  the  "  Aminta."  To  make  him  old,  and 
scorned  by  a  young  mistress,  is  warrantable,  as  Guarini 
has  done  in  the  "  Pastor  Fido ;  "  and  even  a  touch  of 
sentiment  may  not  be  refused  him,  if  visited  by  a  painful 
sense  of  the  difference  of  his  shape ;  which  is  an  imita- 
tion of  the  beautiful  Polyphemic  invention  of  Theocritus, 
and  was  introduced  into  modern  poetry  by  the  precursor 
of  those  poets,  the  inventor  of  the  sylvan  drama  "  Bec- 
cari."  But  we  cannot  say  so  much  for  another  great  poet 
of  ours,  Fletcher,  who,  spoilt  by  his  town  breeding,  and 


THE   SATYR    OF   MYTHOLOGY.  167 

thinking  he  could  not  make  out  a  case  for  chastity,  and 
the  admiration  of  it,  but  by  carrying  it  to  a  pitch  of  the 
improbable,  introduces  into  his  "  Faithful  Shepherdess  "  a 
Satyr  thoroughly  divested  of  his  nature,  the  most  senti- 
mental and  Platonical  of  lovers,  and  absolute  guardian  of 
what  he  exists  only  to  oppose.  The  clipping  of  hedges 
into  peacocks  was  nothing  to  this.  It  was  like  changing 
warmth  into  cold,  and  taking  the  fertility  out  of  the  earth. 
Elegance  was  another  affair.  The  rudest  things  natural 
contain  a  principle  of  that.  You  may  show  even  a  Satyr  in 
his  graces,  as  you  may  a  goat  in  a  graceful  attitude,  or  the 
turns  and  blossoms  of  a  thorn.  But  to  make  the  shaggy 
and  impetuous  wood-god,  with  his  veins  full  of  the  sap  of 
the  vine,  a  polished  and  retiring  lover,  all  for  the  meta- 
physics of  the  passion,  and  bowing  and  backing  himself 
out  of  doors  like  a  "  sweet  signior,"  was  to  strike  barren- 
ness into  the  spring,  and  make  the  "  swift  and  fiery  sun," 
which  the  poet  so  finely  speaks  of,  halt  and  become  a  thing 
deliberate.  Pan,  at  the  sight,  should  have  cut  off  his  uni- 
versal beard.  Certainly,  the  Satyr  ought  to  have  clipped 
his  coat,  and  withdrawn  into  the  urbanities  of  a  suit  of 
clothes.     He  should  have  "  walked  gowned." 

However,  there  is  a  ruddy  and  rough  side  of  the  apple 
still  left ;  and  with  this  we  proceed  to  indulge  ourselves, 
cutting  away  the  rest.  Fletcher  is  a  true  poet,  and  could 
aot  speak  of  woods  and  wood-gods  without  finding  means' 
to  give  us  a  proper  taste  of  them.  His  Satyr  comes  in 
well. 

ENTER  A  SATYR  WITH  A  BASKET  OF  .FRUIT. 

Satyr.    Through  yon  same  bending  plain, 

That  flings  his  arms  down  to  the  main, 
And  through  these  thick  woods  have  I  run, 
Whose  bottom  never  kiss'd  the  sun 


1 68  THE    SATYR   OF   MYTHOLOGY. 

Since  the  lusty  spring  began ; 
All  to  please  my  master  Pan 
Have  I  trotted  without  rest 
To  get  him  fruit ;  for  at  a, feast 
He  entertains,  this  coming  night, 
His  paramour,  the  Syrinx  bright 

Here  be  grapes,  whose  lusty  blood 
Is  the  learned  poet's  good, 
Sweeter  yet  did  never  crown 
The  head  of  Bacchus ;  nuts  more  brown 
Than  the  squirrel's  teeth,  that  crack  them ; 
Deign,  oh,  fairest  fair,  to  take  them. 
For  these,  black-eyed  Dryope 
Hath  oftentimes  commanded  me 
With  my  clasped  knee  to  climb : 
See  how  well  the  lusty  time 
Hath  deck'd  their  rising  cheeks  in  red, 
Such  as  on  your  lips  is  spread. 
Here  be  berries  for  a  queen ; 
Some  be  red,  some  be  green." 

(How  much  better  than  if  he  had  said  "  some  be  red  and 
some  be  green."  He  is  like  a  great  boy,  poking  over  the 
basket,  and  pointing  out  the  finest  things  in  it  with  rustic 
fervor.) 

"  These  are  of  that  luscious  meat, 
The  great  god  Pan  himself  doth  eat : 
All  these,  and  what  the  woods  can  yield, 
The  hanging  mountain  or  the  field, 
I  freely  offer  ;  and  ere  long 
Will  bring  you  more,  more  sweet  and  strong : 
Till  when  humbly  leave  I  take, 
Lest  the  great  Pan  do  awake, 
That  sleeping  lies  in  a  deep  glade, 
Under  a  broad  beech's  shade. 
I  must  go,  I  must  run, 
Swifter  than  the  fiery  sun." 

In  this  passage,  Mr.  Seward,  in  his  edition  of  "  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher,"  has  a  note  containing  an  extract  from  The- 


THE    SATYR   OF   MYTHOLOGY.  1 69 

ocritus,  so  happily  rendered  that,  as  it  suits  our  purpose, 
we  will  repeat  it.  It  is  seldom  that  a  writer  not  pro- 
fessedly a  poet,  and  an  eminent  one  too,  has  struck  forth 
so  masterly  a  bit  of  translation.  The  verb  in  the  last  line 
even  surpasses  the  original.  We  will  put  the  Greek  first, 
both  in  justice  to  it,  and  because  (to  own  a  whim  of  ours) 
the  glimmering  and  thorny  look  of  the  Greek  characters 
gives,  in  our  eyes,  something  of  a  boskiness  to  one's 
pages.  A  page  of  a  Greek  pastoral  is  the  next  thing  with 
us  to  a  wood-side,  or  a  landscape  of  Gasper  Poussin  :  — 

Ov  &e/iig,  o)  noi/iav.  to  /x£aafif3pcvov,  ov  ■Qepu;  a/i/uv 
'Evpiodev  tov  Hava  6e6oucafieg'  tj  yap  <nf  aypag 
Tavuta  KEKficuiug  a/iTraverai,  evn  ye  iwcpog, 
Kai  ol  clel  dpifieta  xo^a  non  p"ivt  KadijTcu.. 

"  Shepherd,  forbear :  no  song  at  noon's  dread  hour ; 
Tir'd  with  the  chase,  Pan  sleeps  in  yonder  bower ; 
Churlish  he  is ;  and,  stirr'd  in  his  repose, 
The  snappish  choler  quivers  on  his  nose." 

We  must  quote  the  Satyr's  concluding  speech,  though  it 
is  not  so  much  in  character.  The  poet  might  have  de- 
fended his  straying  in  the  air,  but  it  must  have  been  upon 
very  abstract  and  ethereal  grounds,  foreign  to  the  substan- 
tial part  which  he  plays  in  this  drama ;  and  the  fine  allu- 
sion to  Orpheus'  lute  is  equally  learned  and  out  of  its 
place.  However,  the  whole  passage  is  so  beautiful,  that 
we  cannot  help  repeating  it.  Our  Platonical  friend  is 
taking  leave  of  the  lady  :  — 

"  Satyr.    Thou  divinest,  fairest,  brightest, 

Thou  most  pow'rful  maid,  and  whitest, 
Thou  most  virtuous  and  most  blessed, 
Eyes  of  stars,  and  golden  tressed 
Like  Apollo  I  tell  me,  sweetest, 
What  new  service  now  is  meetest 


I70  THE    NYMPHS    OF   ANTIQUITY. 

For  the  Satyr?     Shall  I  stray 

In  the  middle  air,  and  stay 

The  sailing  rack,  or  nimbly  take 

Hold  by  the  moon,  and  gently  make 

Suit  to  the  pale  queen  of  night 

For  a  beam  to  give  thee  light  ? 

Shall  I  dive  into  the  sea, 

And  bring  thee  coral,  making  way 

Through  the  rising  waves,  that  fall 

In  snowy  fleeces?    Dearest,  shall 

I  catch  thee  wanton  fawns,  or  flies, 

Whose  woven  wings  the  summer  dyes 

Of  many  colours?    Get  thee  fruit ? 

Or  steal  from  heav'n  old  Orpheus'  lute  I " 

What  a  relic !  The  lute  of  Orpheus  !  and  laid  up  in 
some  corner  of  heaven !  Doubtless  in  the  thick  of  one 
of  its  grassiest  nooks  of  asphodel ;  and  the  winds  play 
upon  it,  of  evenings,  to  the  ear  of  Proserpine  when  she 
visits  her  mother,  —  giving  her  trembling  memories  to 
carry  back  to  Eurydice. 


THE  NYMPHS  OF  ANTIQUITY  AND  OF 
THE  POETS. 

HE  Nymphs  of  antiquity  are  the  gentle  powers 
of  the  earth,  and  therefore  figured  under  the 
shape  of  beautiful  females.  A  large  or  vio- 
lent river  had  a  god  to  it :  —  the  nymph  is 
ever  gentle  and  sweet.  The  word  signifies 
a  marriageable  female.  It  is  traced  to  a  word  signifying 
moisture  ;  and  all  the  Nymphs,  as  a  body,  are  said  to  have 
derived  their  origin  from  Neptune,  or  water  —  the  first 
principle  of  all  things'! 

Every  fountain,  every  wood,  many  a  single  tree,  had  a 
nymph  to  it.     An  ancient  could  not  stir  out  of  doors,  if  he 


THE    NYMPHS    OF   ANTIQUITY.  171 

was  religious,  without  being  conscious  that  he  was  sur- 
rounded with  things  supernatural ;  and  thus  his  religion, 
though  full  of  beautiful  forms,  was  a  different  thing  to 
him  from  what  it  is  to  us.  The  nymph  was  lovely  and  be- 
neficent \  she  took  care  of  her  brook  or  her  grove  for  the 
agriculturist,  and  he  humbly  assisted  her  in  his  turn  and 
presented  her  with  flowers  ;  and  yet  a  sight  of  her  was 
supposed  to  occasion  a  particular  species  of  madness, 
thence  called  Nympholepsy.  A  living  writer,*  who  has  a 
young  heart,  has  founded  a  pastoral  drama  upon  it.  We 
are  informed,  by  a  native  of  the  Ionian  Isles,f  that  to  this 
day  a  peasant  there  cannot  be  persuaded  to  venture  out  of 
his  cottage  at  noonday  during  the  month  of  July,  on  ac- 
count of  the  fairies  whom  he  calls  Aneraides,  i.e.,  Nereids. 
The  truth  is,  that  in  this  instance,  as  in  that  of  the  modern 
fairies,  he  who  thought  he  beheld  any  thing  supernatural 
was  in  a  fair  way  of  being  delirious  beforehand. 

It  was  otherwise  with  the  great  or  "  initiated."  Poets 
talked  of  seeing  the  nymphs,  and  the  gods  too,  without 
any  harm,  not  excepting  Bacchus,  the  most  awful  vision 
of  them  all ;  %  and  multitudes  of  heroes  were  descended 
and  received  favors  from  enamoured  Dryads  and  Naiads. 
The  old  poets  have  a  favorite  phrase  to  denote  these  con- 
descending amours.  §  The  use  of  the  fiction  was  obvious  ; 
nor  was  it  confined  to  the  maternal  side  of  ancient  heraldry. 
There  is  a  story  of  a  girl,  who,  having  been  honored  with 


*  See  "  Amarynfhus,  or  the  Nympholept."    By  Mr.  Horace  Smith. 

t  Ugo  Foscolo,  in  his  criticism  in  the  "  Quarterly  Review,"  upon  the 
"  Narrative  and  Romantic  Poems  of  the  Italians,"  vol.  21,  p.  514. 

%  Cospetto  di  Bacco  (Face  of  Bacchus)  is  still  an  oath  among  the  Italians. 

§  In  the  Homeric  account  of  Venus's  amours  with  Anchises,  the  goddess 
enjoins  the  hero,  in  case  he  is  asked  questions  about  their  child,  to  say  that  a 
nymph  was  his  mother ;  but  on  no  account  was  he  to  dare  to  say  it  was  Vem.s. 


172  THE    NYMPHS    OF    ANTIQUITY. 

the  attentions  of  the  river  Scamander,  observed  him  one 
day  standing  in  a  crowd  at  a  public  festival ;  upon  which 
the  divinity  was  taken  up  and  carried  before  the  magis- 
trate. 

We  shall  give  a  list  of  the  principal  nymphs  and  their 
names  ;  partly,  because  the  genuine  reader,  who  does  not 
happen  to  be  learned,  will  be  glad  of  it,  and  partly  on  ac- 
count of  the  beauty  of  the  nomenclature.  These  were 
the  Nereids,  or  nymphs  of  the  sea,  daughters  of  Nereus  : 
Oreads,  or  nymphs  of  the  mountains  ;  Naiads,  or  nymphs 
of  the  streams ;  Dryads,  or  nymphs  of  the  woods  ;  and 
Hamadryads,  or  nymphs  of  trees  by  themselves  ;  nymphs 
who  were  born  and  died  each  with  her  particular  tree. 

Those  were  the  principal ;  but  we  also  hear  of  the  Lim- 
nads  or  Limniads,  nymphs  of  the  lakes  ;  Potamedes,  or 
nymphs  of  the  rivers  ;  Ephydriads,  or  nymphs  of  the  foun- 
tains ;  Napeae,  nymphs  of  the  woody  glens  and  meadows  ; 
and  Meliae,  nymphs  of  the  honey-making. 

But  these  specific  appellations,  we  suppose,  were  given 
at  will.  There  are  furthermore  the  Bacchantes,  or  nymphs 
of  Bacchus  ;  the  Hesperides,  or  daughters  of  Hesperus, 

"  Who  sing  about  the  Golden  Tree,  " 

the  nymphs  who  waited  upon  the  deities  in  general ;  the 
celestial  Sirens,  who  sat  upon  the  spheres ;  and  some 
reckon  among  them,  the  Graces  and  the  Muses. 

Aristophanes,  in  one  of  his  plays,  has  introduced  a 
chorus  of  clouds  ;  and,  though  the  singers  appear  to  be 
the  clouds  themselves  and  not  deities  conducting  them,  it 
seems  remarkable  that  an  incarnation  of  those  fair  and 
benignant  travellers  through  heaven  escaped  the  fertile 
imagination  of  the  Greeks. 

All  these  nymphs  passed  a  happy  and  graceful  life  of 


THE   NYMPHS    OF   ANTIQUITY.  1 73 

mingled  duty  and  pleasure,  and  evinced  their  benignity 
to  mankind  after  their  respective  fashions  :  —  the  Nereids 
in  assisting  men  at  sea,  and  allaying  the  billows  ;  the 
Oreads  in  assisting  hunters  ;  the  Naiads  or  Dryads  in 
taking  care  of  the  streams  and  woods ;  and  so  on  of  the 
rest.  They  danced  and  bathed,  and  made  love  and  played 
among  the  trees,  and  sat  tying  up  their  hair  by  the  waters. 
As  they  were  kind,  they  expected  kindness,  and  were 
grateful  for  it.  If  their  worshippers  represented  them  as 
severe  in  their  resentments,  it  was  in  punishment  of  what 
was  thought  impious ;  and  there  is  always  some  incon- 
sistency in  those  personifications  of  the  natural  reaction 
of  error. 

Such  was  the  life  led  by  the  nymphs  of  old,  and  such  is 
the  one  they  lead  still,  even  in  quarters  where  they  would 
not  be  expected  ;  so  native  are  they  to  the  regions  of 
poetry,  that  they  will  divide  them  with  other  mythologies 
rather  than  remove.  It  is  as  well  to  keep  the  latter  dis- 
tinct, though  our  old  poets,  in  the  interior  of  their  philos- 
ophy, would  have  had  much  to  say  for  uniting  them.  At 
all  events,  there  they  are  all  together  in  the  pages  of 
Spenser,  as  we  shall  presently  see.  Even  Milton  contrived 
not  to  let  them  go  ;  and  Camoens,  like  a  right  sailor,  finds 
them  in  every  port. 

We  proceed  to  the  different  classes  separately,  and  to 
touch  upon  what  the  poets  have  said  of  them.  And,  in 
the  first  place,  as  personal  matters  are  as  important  to 
them  as  to  other  ladies,  and  the  sea-nymphs  got  Neptune 
to  send  a  whale  against  Queen  Cassiopeia  for  pretending 
to  be  their  equal  in  beauty,  it  is  to  be  observed,  as  a  cau- 
tion to  men  at  sea,  that  nobody  must  speak  ill  of  green 
hair  —  such  being  the  tresses  of  the  Nereids.  For  our  part, 
who  are  great  readers  of  the  poets,  we  make  no  scruple  to 


174  THE    NYMPHS    OF   ANTIQUITY. 

say  that  we  can  fancy  green  mossy  locks  well  enough, 
provided  there  is  a  sweet  face  under  them.  The  painters 
have  seldom  ventured  upon  these  anomalies ;  but  the  poets, 
whose  especial  business  it  is  to  have  an  universal  sym- 
pathy, can  fancy  the  sea-nymphs  with  their  verdant  locks, 
and  even  in  the  midst  of  their  faint-smelling  and  storm- 
echoing  bowers,  and  love  them  no  less.  Good  offices  and 
a  robust  power  of  enjoyment  make  the  Nereid  beautiful. 
She  grapples  with  the  waves  and  flings  aside  her  hair  from 
her  soused  cheeks  ;  and  the  poet  is  willing  to  be  a  Triton 
for  her  sake.  The  most  beautiful  figure  ever  made  by  the 
nymphs  as  a  body,  is  by  these  very  sisters,  in  the  Prome- 
theus of  ^Eschylus,  where  they  come  to  console  the  stern 
demi-god  in  his  sufferings.  But  as  the  scene  is  rather 
characteristic  of  them  as  cordial  and  pious  females,  than 
creatures  of  their  particular  class,  it  is  here  (with  great 
unwillingness)  omitted.  A  late  admirable  writer  thought 
his  contemporaries  defective  in  imagination  for  not  making 
the  nymphs  partake  thoroughly  of  the  nature  of  the  ele- 
ment they  lived  in.  He  would  have  had  a  Dryad,  for 
instance,  as  rugged  and  fantastic  in  her  aspect  as  an  old 
oak-tree,  and  divested  of  all  human  beauty.  The  ancients 
did  not  go  so  far  as  this.  Beauty,  in  a  human  shape,  was 
a  sine  qn&  non  with  those  cultivators  of  physical  grace,  in 
their  most  supernatural  fancies  ;  and  the  world  have  ap- 
proved their  taste,  and  retained  the  charming  population 
with  which  they  filled  the  woods  and  waters  ;  but  the  poet, 
whenever  he  chooses,  can  still  know  how  to  make  a  "  dif- 
ference discreet."  The  Nereids  lived  in  grottos  on  the 
sea-shore,  as  well  as  in  bowers  under  water.  They  were 
fond  of  feeding  the  Halcyon  ;  and  sported  and  revelled, 
says  the  old  poet,  like  so  many  joyous  fish  about  the 
chariot  of  the  sea-god.     We  are  to  suppose  them  diving 


THE    NYMPHS    OF   ANTIQUITY.  1 75 

underneath  it  from  one  another,  and  careering  about  it 
as  it  ran  ;  splashing  each  other  and  their  lovers  with  the 
sunny  waters.  Ben  Jonson  has  painted  them  and  their 
father  in  a  jovial  line  :  — 

" Old  Nereus  and  his  fifty  girls." 

Homer,  Hesiod,  and  Spenser  have  given  lists  of  their 
names.  The  list  of  the  English  poet  seems  the  best, 
because  he  has  added  descriptive  epithets  ;  —  but  these 
were  unnecessary  in  the  Greek,  the  names  themselves 
being  descriptions.  This  reconciles  us  to  the  dry  look  of 
the  lists  in  the  Greek  poet,  and  explains  the  apparent 
arbitrariness  of  those  in  the  English  one  ;  though  even 
if  the  epithets  of  the  latter  had  not  been  translations,  or 
taken  from  other  epithets  bestowed  upon  them  by  his  au- 
thorities, they  would  have  had  a  good  effect.  They  give 
a  distinction  to  the  individuals,  —  a  character,  as  they  pass 
by,  to  their  faces  and  bearing. 

"  Swift  Proto,  mild  Eucrate,  Thetis  faire, 
Soft  Spio,  sweet  Eudore,  Sao  sad, 
Light  Doto,  wanton  Glance,  and  Galene  glad : 
White-handed  Eunica,  proud  Dynamene, 
Joyous  Thalia,  goodly  Amphitrite, 
Lovely  Pasithee,  kinde  Eulimene, 
Light-foote  Cymothoe,  and  sweet  Melitfe ; 
Fairest  Pherusa,  Phao  lilly  white,"  &c. 

Among  the  rest  are  "  milke-white  Galathaea,  large  Lisian- 
assa,  stout  Autonoe, — 

"  And,  seeming  still  to  smile,  Glauconome ; 
Fresh  Alimeda,  deckt  with  girlond  greene  ; 
Hyponoe,  with  salt-bedewed  wrests ; 
Laomedia,  like  the  christall  sheene  ; 
Liagore,  much  praised  for  wise  behests  ; 
And  Psamathe  for  her  brode  snowy  brests." 

The  intellectual   and  moral  epithets  do  not  seem  so 


I76  THE   NYMPHS   OF   ANTIQUITY. 

natural  as  the  material  ones.  The  old  fathers  of  the  sea 
are  the  philosophers  of  those  "  watery  shades."  *  The 
nymphs  are  the  dancing  billows. 

In  the  hymn  to  Venus,  above  quoted,  which  is  attributed 
to  Homer,  the  mountain  Hamadryads  are  represented  as 
contending  with  the  gods  for  the  prize  of  dancing  :  — 

"  Nymphs  that  haunt  the  height 
Of  hills,  and  breasts  have  of  most  deep  receipt." 

Chapman's  Translation. 

The  favorite  Greek  beauty  (deep-bosom'd)  of  which  our 
reverend  old  poet  here  contrives  to  express  so  profound  a 
sense  by  unloosening  the  compound  epithet,  was  not  in 
the  way  of  their  dancing,  any  more  than  the  bosoms  of 
the  gypsies. 

"  The  light  Sileni  mix  in  love  with  these, 
And,  of  all  spies  the  prince,  Argicides." 

Their  lives  have  the  same  date  with  those 

"  Of  odorous  fir-trees  and  high-foreheaded  oaks ; " 

but  their  decease  is  gently  managed ;  unless,  indeed,  we 
are  to  fancy  them  partaking  gradually  of  the  decay  ;  which 
is  not  likely,  for  the  ancients  never  tell  us  of  decrepid 
nymphs. 

"  The  fair  trees  still  before  the  fair  nymphs  die ; 
The  bole  about  them  grows  corrupt  and  dry :  " 

and  not  till  the  boughs  are  fallen,  do  the  lingering  tenants 

"  Leave  the  lovely  light." 

One  of  the  speakers  in  Plutarch's  essay  on  the  "  Ces- 


*  The  God  of  the  sea, 
Sophist  and  sage,  from  no  Athenian  grove, 
But  cogitation  in  his  watery  shades." 

Hyperion,  Book  ii. 


THE    NYMPHS    OF   ANTIQUITY.  1 77 

sation  of  Oracles,"  has  undertaken  to  compute  the  life  of 
a  nymph  ;  which,  by  a  process  that  would  have  been  more 
satisfactory  to  Sir  Kenelm  Digby  than  to  an  oak-insur- 
ance office,  he  reckons  at  9720  years.  It  is  to  be  consid- 
ered, however,  as  we  have  just  noticed,  that  they  looked 
young  to  the  last.  Spenser  is  the  only  poet  that  has  ven- 
tured to  speak  of  an  "  old  nymph."  He  says  that  Proteus 
had  one  to  keep  his  bower  clean. 

"  There  was  his  wonne ;  ne  living  wight  was  seene, 
Save  one  old  nymph,  hight  Panope,  to  keepe  it  cleane." 

This  is  one  of  the  liberties  which  he  takes  sometimes, 
especially  when  his  rhyme  is  burnt  out,  and  he  seems 
between  sleep  and  waking.  His  Panope  is  very  different 
from  Milton's  :  — 

"  The  air  was  calm,  and  on  the  level  brine 
Sleek  Panope  with  all  her  sisters  play'd." 

But  these  vagaries  of  Spenser  do  not  hinder  him  from 
being  a  poet  as  elegant  as  he  is  great.  There  is  to  be 
found  in  them  even  a  germ  of  the  old  epic  impartiality. 
Indeed,  none  but  a  great  poet,  with  a  childlike  simplicity, 
could  venture  upon  them.  We  smile,  but  retain  our  re- 
spect ;  and  are  prepared  to  resume  all  our  admiration  for 
the  next  thing  he  utters. 

In  the  Homeric  hymn  to  Pan,  for  instance,  the  moun- 
tain-nymphs are  described  beautifully,  as  joining  in  with 
their  songs  when  they  hear  the  pipe  of  the  sylvan  god. 
Yet  we  see  them  to  most  advantage  in  the  works  of  the 
great  painters,  and  of  Spenser  himself.  Poussin  or  Raph- 
ael never  painted  a  set  of  nymphs  more  distinctly  than 
our  poet  has  done  in  his  description  of  a  bath  of  Diana,  — ■ 
a  match  for  Titian's.  The  natural  action  of  Diana,  gath- 
12 


178  THE   NYMPHS   OF  ANTIQUITY. 

ering  her  drapery  against  her  bosom,  seems  copied  from 
some  painting  or  piece  of  sculpture,  — 

Soon,  her  garments  loose 
Upgath'ring,  in  her  bosom  she  compriz'd, 
Well  as  she  might,  and  to  the  goddesse  rose, 
Whiles  all  her  nymphes  did  like  a  garland  her  enclose. 

And  the  enclosure  of  her  by  her  nymphs  is  from  Ovid : 
but  not  the  beautiful  simile  of  the  garland,  nor  the  relish 
with  which  every  word  comes  from  the  poet's  pencil.  We 
cannot  pass  by  a  couplet  in  the  Latin  poet  without  no- 
ticing it :  —  • 

Fons  sonat  a  dextra,  tenui  perlucidus  unda, 
Margine  gramineo  patulos  incinctus  hiatus. 

Metam.  Lib.  iii.,  v.  161. 

which  has  been  well  turned  by  Sandys :  — 

A  bubbling  spring,  with  streams  as  clear  as  glass 
Ran  chiding  by,  inlaid  with  matted  grass. 

In  Ovid  are  the  names  of  some  of  these  Oreads.  They 
are  remarkable  for  their  fairy-like  appearance  in  English, 
and  for  being  all  derived  from  moisture  ;  which  would 
lead  us  to  suppose  that  the  idea  of  nymphs  dancing  on  the 
mountains  was  suggested  by  the  leaping  of  springs  and 
torrents.  The  names  are  Crocale,  Nephele,  Phiale,  Hyale, 
Psecas,  and  Rhanis  ;  that  is  to  say,  Pebble,  Cloud,  Phial, 
Glassy,  Dew-drop,  and  Rain.  Pebble  is  no  exception. 
The  philosophy  that  derived  every  thing  from  water,  was 
not  likely  to  think  sand  and  gravel  the  farthest  off  from 
their  original.  There  is  reason  to  suppose  that  the 
ancients  took  all  clear-looking  stones  for  a  petrifaction  of 
water.  When  we  are  told,  indeed,  that  "  this  element  is 
found  in  the  driest  of  solid  bodies,  whatever  be  their  de- 
scription," and  that,  "  a  piece  of  hartshorn  kept  for  forty 
years,  and  thereby  become  as  hard  and  dry  as  metal  (so 


THE    NYMPHS    OF    ANTIQUITY.  1 79 

that  if  struck  against  a  flint  it  would  give  sparks  of  fire), 
upon  being  distilled,  was  found  to  yield  an  eighth  part  of 
its  weight  in  water,"  we  begin  to  think  that,  in  this,  as  in 
so  many  other  instances,  the  ancient  philosophers  antici- 
pated the  discoveries  of  the  moderns,  and  that  experiment 
only  establishes  the  profundity  of  their  guesses.  It  is 
probable  that  Akenside  has  something  to  this  purpose  in 
his  hymn  to  the  Naiads  ;  but,  as  we  have  not  the  poem 
by  us,  and  have  as  cold  a  recollection  of  it  as  of  a  morn- 
ing in  November,  or  one  of  old  Panope's  washing  days,  we 
return  to  our  sunnier  haunt.  According  to  the  ancients, 
the  Oreads  invented  honey  ;  the  nymph  Melissa,  who  dis- 
covered it,  giving  her  name  to  the  bee.  And  they  are  said 
to  have  been  the  first  suggestors  of  the  impropriety  of 
eating  flesh,  making  use  of  this  new  and  sweet  argument 
of  honey,  to  turn  mankind  from  those  evil  courses  of  the 
table. 

The  prettiest  story  told  of  the  Naiads  is  their  pulling 
Hylas  into  the  water  ;  and  Theocritus  has  related  it  in  the 
most  beautiful  manner.  The  Argonauts,  he  tells  us,  had 
landed  on  the  shores  of  the  Propontis  to  sup.  They  busied 
themselves  with  their  preparations  ;  and  Hylas  was  de- 
spatched to  fetch  water  for  Alcides  and  Telamon,  who  were 
table-companions.  The  blooming  boy,  accordingly,  took 
his  way  with  his  jug.  See  the  passage  in  the  thirteenth 
Idyl,  v.  39,  beginning 

Taxa  <5e  xPavav  Evoqoav. 

The  English  reader  must  be  content  with  a  version  :  — 

And  straight  he  was  aware 
Of  water  in  a  .hollow  place,  low  down, 
Where  the  thick  sward  shone  with  blue  celandine, 
And  bright  green  maiden-hair,  still  dry  in  dew,        , 
And  parsley  rich.     And  at  that  hour  it  chanced 


I  So  THE    NYMPHS    OF   ANTIQUITY. 

The  nymphs  unseen  were  dancing  in  the  fount,  — 
The  sleepless  nymphs,  reverenced  of  housing  men ;  — 
Winning  Eunica  ;  Malis,  apple-cheek'd  ; 
And,  like  a  night-bedewed  rose,  Nychea. 

Down  stepp'd  the  boy,  in  haste  to  give  his  urn 

Its  fill,  and  push'd  it  in  the  fount ;  when  lo  ! 

Fair  hands  were  on  him  —  fair,  and  very  fast ; 

For  all  the  gentle  souls  that  haunted  there 

Were  wrapt  in  love's  sweet  gathering  tow'rds  the  boy ; 

And  so  he  dropp'd  within  the  darksome  well,  — 

Dropp'd  like  a  star,  that,  on  a  summer  eve, 

Slides  in  ethereal  beauty  to  the  sea. 

These  nymphs,  however,  are  rather  the  Ephydriads  than 
the  Naiads  ;  that  is  to  say,  nymphs  of  the  fountain  or  well- 
spring,  and  not  of  the  river.  Shakespeare  has  painted 
the  faces  of  the  Naiads  in  a  very  pleasing  manner :  — 

"You  nymphs  call'd  Naiads  of  the  wandering  brooks, 
With  your  sedge  crowns,  and  ever  harmless  looks  :  " 

but  these  were    English  Naiads,  always  gliding  calmly 
through  the  meadows. 

The  Greek  and  Italian  Naiads  were  equally  benignant 
at  heart,  but,  having  torrents  and  dry  summers  to  think 
of,  their  look  was  now  and  then  a  little  more  troubled. 
Virgil's  epithet,  "  the  white  Naiad,"  eminently  belongs  to 
this  order  of  nymphs,  the  silver  body  of  whose  stream  is 
seen  glistening  in  the  landscape  ;  and  he  has  made  a 
pretty  contrast  of  color  in  the  flowers  he  has  given  her 
to  pluck. 

"Tibi  Candida  Nais 
Pallentes  violas  et  summa  papavera  carpens." 

The  white  Naiad 
Pale  violets  plucks  for  thee,  and  tops  of  poppies. 

The  Nymph  Arethusa  was  originally  an  Oread,  whom 
Diana  changed  into  a  stream  to  help  her  to  fly  from  the 


THE    NYMPHS    OF   ANTIQUITY.  l8l 

river-god  Alpheus.  Alpheus,  nothing  hindered,  turned  the 
course  of  his  river  to  pursue  her.  The  nymph  prayed 
again,  and  was  conveyed  under  ground,  but  the  god  was 
still  after  her.  She  was  hurried  even  under  the  sea,  but 
he  still  pursued  ;  when  she  rose  again  in  the  island  of 
Sicily  for  breath,  there  he  was  beside  her.  We  are  left  to 
suppose  that  his  pertinacity  prevailed  ;  for  whatever  pres- 
ent was  bestowed  upon  his  waters  in  Arcady  is  said  to 
have  made  its  appearance  in  the  Sicilian  fountain.  Among 
all  the  names  to  be  found  in  poetry,  perhaps  there  is  not  a 
more  beautiful  one  than  this  of  Arethusa  ;  and  it  turns 
well  into  English.  Hear  Milton,  who  speaking  of  Alpheus 
says  that  he 

"  Stole  under  seas  to'meet  his  Arethuse." 

The  modern  Sicilian  name  is  Retusa,  which,  pronounced 
in  the  soft  manner  of  the  Italians,  and  with  something  of 
z  in  the  s  (as  we  read  the  other),  is  not  destitute  of  the 
beauty  of  the  original.* 

We  were  admiring,  at  this  part  of  our  article,  that  the 
ancients,  among  the  less  philosophical  companions  of  their 
mythology,  had  not  chosen  sometimes  to  mingle  the  two 
species  of  Naiads  and  Dryads,  considering  that  trees  have 
so  much  to  do  with  moisture,  and  with  the  origin  of 
streams.  Our  attention  was  drawn  at  the  same  moment 
to  a  passage  in  Ovid  ;  where  he  speaks  of  the  Nymph 
Syrinx,  a  Naiad,  as  being  "  among  the  Hamadryads  of 
Arcady."  Perhaps  he  only  meant  to  say,  that  she  lived 
among  them,  as  a  Naiad,  for  the  reason  just  mentioned, 


*  In  Italy,  among  its  strange  union  of  things,  ancient  and  modern,  we  saw 
one  day  upon  a  mantel-piece  a  card  of  a  Marquis  de  Retuse-  This  was  the 
designation,  Frenchified,  of  the  district  in  Sicily  including  the  ancient  fountain. 
Here  was  the  Marquis  of  Arethusa  I 


l82  THE    NYMPHS    OF    ANTIQUITY. 

might  be  supposed  to  do  ;  but  the  turn  of*  the  words  and 
custom  of  the  language  both  seem  in  favor  of  the  other 
supposition.  Sandys,  however,  clearly  takes  the  passage 
in  the  former  sense.  Ovid  says,  "  On  the  cold  mountains 
of  Arcady,  and  among  the  Arcadian  Hamadryads,  there 
was  a  Naiad,"  and  according  to  his  translator,  she  only 
lived  amongst  them.  "  Then  thus  the  god  "  (Mercury  who 
is  singing  and  telling  stories  to  Argus  to  get  him  to 
sleep)  — 

"  Then  thus  the  god  his  charmed  ears  inclines  : 
Amongst  the  Hamadryad  Nonacrines, 
On  cold  Arcadian  hills,  for  beauty  famed, 
A  Nais  dwelt."  * 

The  Dryads  and  Hamadryads  are  often  confounded  with 
one  another ;  nor  is  the  difference  between  them,  when  it  is 
made,  always  justly  discerned.  Menage  tells  of  somebody, 
who,  on  being  asked  by  a  lady  what  the  difference  was 
between  a  Dryad  and  a  Hamadryad,  said,  the  same  as  be- 
tween an  archbishop  and  a  bishop.  If  every  solitary  tree 
had  its  Hamadryad,  the  woodman  could  not  have  ap- 
proached it  without  impiety.  The  truth  is,  that  as  old 
trees  of  this  kind  became  sanctified,  either  by  the  mere 
desire  of  keeping  them  alive,  or  by  some  votive  circum- 
stances attached  to  them  as  objects  of  religion,  they  were 
gifted  with  the  care  of  a  nymph.  She  was,  in  consequence, 
to  die  when  they  did  ;  and  the  sacrilegious  peasant,  while 
he  was  heaving  his  axe  at  the  old  trunk,  would  have  to 
strike  at  the  fair  limbs  which  it  enclosed. 

A  story  has  come  down  to  us  in  Apollonius  of  the 
vengeance  that  overtook  criminals  of  this  sort,  and  of 


*  "  Tarn  deus,  Arcadia  gelidis  in  montinis,"  inquit, 
"  Inter  Hamadryades  celeberrima  Nonacrinas 
Nais  una  fuit." 


THE    NYMPHS    OF   ANTIQUITY.  1 83 

dreadful  denouncements  against  their  posterity  ;  which, 
however,  were  not  inexpiable  by  a  little  worship  and 
sacrifice.  But  the  gratitude  of  the  nymph,  when  her  tree 
was  preserved  from  destruction,  and  the  preserver  turned 
out  otherwise  not  insensible,  was  boundless.  Charon  of 
Lampsacus,  an  old  commentator  upon  the  writer  just 
mentioned,  tells  us  that,  when  Areas  the  son  of  Calisto  was 
hunting,  he  met  a  nymph  in  the  woods,  who  requested  his 
aid  for  an  old  oak-tree  on  the  banks  of  a  river,  which  the 
river  was  undermining.  He  rescued  it  from  its  threat- 
ened fate,  and  out  of  gratitude  the  nymph  bore  him  two 
children.  In  another  story,  related  by  the  same  author, 
the  hero  was  not  so  lucky.  This  person,  whose  name  was 
Rhcecus,  was  applied  to  on  a  similar  account ;  and  having 
evinced  a  like  humanity,  showed  a  due  taste  in  the  first 
instance,  when  requested  to  ask  his  reward.  The  nymph 
promised  to  meet  him  ;  adding,  that  she  would  send  a  bee 
to  let  him  know  the  time.  The  bee  came  accordingly, 
but  Rhcecus,  who  was  occupied  with  a  game  of  dice,  was 
impatient  at  being  interrupted,  and  hurt  the  wings  of  the 
little  messenger  in  brushing  him  away.  The  nymph, 
offended  at  this  proof  of  the  superficial  nature  of  his 
feelings,  not  only  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  him,  but 
deprived  him  of  the  use  of  his  limbs.* 

It  remains  only  to  speak  of  the  Bacchantes,  the  Hes- 
perides,  and  certain  solitary  nymphs  who  lived  apart,  and 


*  We  are  obliged,  as  the  historian  of  these  our  fictitious  truths,  to  relate 
them  in  all  their  circumstances  ;  otherwise  the  lady  might  have  stopped  short 
tf  giving  Rhcecus  a  palsy.  It  is  a  remarkable  instance  of  the  natural  dulness 
of  Natalis  Comes  (for  which  Scaliger  gives  him  a  knock),  that  in  relating  this 
story  of  Rhcecus  and  the  Nymph,  he  leaves  off  with  her  sending  him  the  bee. 
[The  story  of  the  Hamadryad  is  told  very  minutely  and  beautifully  in  the 
"  Indicator,"  and  is  the  subject  of  one  of  Landor's  "  Hellenics."  —  Ed.] 


184  THE    NYMPHS    OF    ANTIQUITY. 

held  a  state  like  goddesses.  The  rest  are  not  sufficiently 
identified  with  the  class,  or  are  too  little  distinguished 
from  the  former  varieties,  to  need  particular  mention. 

The  Bacchantes,  or  Nymphs  of  Bacchus,  are  of  a  very 
different  character  from  their  sisters.  They  are  equally 
remarkable  for  the  turbulence  of  their  movements,  and  the 
rigidness  of  their  chastity  ;  though  as  to  the  latter,  "Juve- 
nal," says  an  Italian  Mythology,  "  is  of  another  opinion ; "  * 
and  Lycophron  gives  the  title  of  Bacchantes  to  dissolute 
women.  How  the  followers  of  the  god  of  wine  came  to  be 
thought  so  austere  we  know  not.  The  delicacy  of  the  moral, 
if  it  existed,  has  escaped  us.  If  it  were  meant  to  insinuate 
that  a  drunken  female  repelled  every  thing  amatory  by  the 
force  of  disgust,  no  case  could  be  clearer :  but  ancient 
mythology  abounds  with  the  loves  of  wood-gods  for  these 
ladies,  who  on  the  other  hand  struggled  plentifully  to 
resist  them.  According  to  the  authority  just  mentioned, 
Nonnus,  a  Greek  author  of  the  fifth  century,  who  wrote  a 
poem  on  Bacchus  as  big  as  a  tun,  represents  them  as  so 
jealous  of  their  virgin  honor,  that  they  went  to  bed  with  a 
live  serpent  round  their  waists,  to  guard  against  surprise. 
The  perplexity  in  this  matter  originated,  perhaps,  in  the 
chastity  that  was  expected  from  the  ordained  priestesses 
of  Bacchus,  who  are  often  confounded  with  his  nymphs. 
But  so  little  had  the  nature  of  the  latter  to  do  with  chas- 
tity, that  those  who  undertook  to  represent  them,  gave  rise 
to  the  greatest  scandal  that  ever  took  place  in  the  heathen 
world,  and  such  as  the  Romans  were  obliged  to  suppress 
by  a  regular  state  interference. 

The  Hesperides,  so  called  because  they  were  the  grand- 
daughters (Milton  says  the  daughters)  of  Hesperus,  and 

*  Dizionario  d'ogni  Mitologia.  art.  "Baccanti." 


THE    NYMPHS    OF    ANTIQUITY.  1 85 

otherwise  Atlantides,  or  daughters  of  Atlas,  were  three 
nymphs,  who  were  commissioned,  in  company  with  a 
dragon,  to  guard  the  tree  from  which  Juno  produced  the 
golden  apples  that  she  gave  to  Jupiter  on  her  marriage 
day.  The  nymphs  sang,  and  the  dragon  never  slept ;  and 
so,  in  the  melancholy  beauty  of  that  charm,  the  tree  ever 
stood  secure,  and  the  apples  "  hung  amiable."  It  was  one 
of  the  labors  of  Hercules  to  undo  this  custody,  and  carry 
away  the  apples.  The  nymphs  could  only  weep,  while  he 
killed  the  dragon.  Various  interpretations  have  been 
given  to  this  story.  Some  say  the  apples  meant  sheep, 
from  a  word  which  signifies  both  ;  and  that  the  sheep 
were  called  golden,  because  they  were  beautiful ;  the  com- 
mon metaphorical  sense  of  that  epithet  among  the  ancients. 
Others  discover  in  it  an  allegory  on  one  of  the  signs 
of  the  Zodiac,  on  the  sin  of  avarice,  the  discovery  of  a 
gold  mine,  &c.  ;  but  we  shall  be  forgetting  the  spirit  of 
our  subject  for  the  letter.  Milton,  in  his  "  Comus,"  has 
touched  upon  the  gardens  of  Hesperus,  but  not  in  his 
happiest  manner.  There  is  something  in  it  too  finical 
and  perfumed.  We  have  quoted  the  best  lines  when 
making  out  our  list  of  the  nymphs.  Lucan  makes  you 
feel  the  massiveness  of  the  golden  boughs,  and  has  touched 
beautifully  on  the  rest. 

Fuit  aurea  silva, 
Divitiis  graves  et  fulvo  germine  rami  ; 
Virgineusque  chorus,  nitidi  custodia  lud, 
Et  nunquam  somno  damnatus  lumina  serpens.  * 

A  golden  grove,  it  was,  in  a  rich  glade, 
Heavy  with  fruit  that  struck  a  bumish'd  shade ; 
A  virgin  choir  the  sacred  treasure  kept, 
And  a  sad  serpent's  eyes,  that  never  slept. 

*  Quoted  by  Warton  in  his  notes  to  Milton. 


1 86  THE    NYMPHS    OF   ANTIQUITY. 

Mention  of  the  Hesperides  is  made  in  the  Argonautics 
of  Apollonius,  where  the  voyagers  come  upon  the  golden 
garden  after  Hercules  had  rifled  it.  The  nymphs  are 
observed  lamenting  over  the  slain  dragon,  but  vanish  at 
sight  of  the  intruders.  The  latter,  however,  Orpheus 
being  their  spokesman,  venture  to  implore  them  for  water  ; 
and  the  nymphs,  with  the  usual  good-nature  of  their  race, 
indulge  the  petition.  They  become  visible,  each  in  a  tree, 
and  tell  them  that  the  dreadful  stranger,  who  had  been 
there,  had  stamped  in  a  rage  of  thirst  on  the  ground,  and 
struck  up  a  fountain. 

For  accounts  of  the  manners  and  conversation  of 
nymphs  the  curious  reader  may  consult  the  sixth  book  of 
Spenser,  Drayton's  "  Muses'  Elysium,"  the  "  Arcadia  "  of 
Sannazaro,  Cintio  Giraldi's  sylvan  drama,  entitled  "  Egle," 
and  the  "  Endymion  "  of  Keats  ;  to  which  may  be  added  the 
bass-relief  of  ancient  sculpture,  and  the  works  of  the  great 
painters.  (Egle  brightness)  is  a  celebrated  name  in  nymph- 
ology  ;  so  is  Galatea  {milky)  and  Gsnone  {winy).  Cydippe 
{Proud  horse)  seems  rather  the  name  of  a  lady-centaur ; 
but  the  Greeks  were  singularly  fond  of  names  compounded 
from  horses.  Best-horse,  and  Golden-horse,  and  Haste- 
horse  were  among  their  philosophers  (Aristippus,  Chry- 
sippus,  and  Speusippus) ;  and  Horse-mistress  and  Horse- 
tamer,  among  their  ladies  (Hipparchia  and  Hippodamia) 
Of  solitary  nymphs,  or  rather  such  as  lived  apart,  some- 
times in  state  like  goddesses,  with  nymphs  of  their  own, 
the  most  celebrated  are  Circe,  Calypso,  and  Egeria. 
The  most  beautiful  mention  of  Egeria  {the  Watchful  ?)  is 
in  Milton's  Latin  poems,  at  least  to  the  best  of  our  recol- 
lection. See  his  lines  addressed  to  Salsilli,  a  Roman 
poet,  on  his  sickness.  We  regret  we  have  not  time  to 
indulge  ourselves   in   attempting  a  version  of  the  pas- 


THE    NYMPHS    OF   ANTIQUITY.  1 87 

sage.*  Circe  (the  Encircler)  is  clearly  the  original  of  the 
modern  enchantress. 

"  Pale,  wan, 
And  tyrannizing  was  the  lady's  look," 

says  Keats,  describing  her.  (How  beautiful !)  Calypso 
(the  Secret,  or  Lying-hid')  though  no  magician,  was  a 
nobler  enchantress  after  her  fashion,  as  we  see  in  Homer. 
Boccaccio,  speaking  of  Circe,  Calisto,  and  Clymene,  says, 
that  nymphs  of  their  distinguished  class  were  no  other 
than  young  ladies,  delicately  brought  up,  and  living  in 
retirement,  —  "  thalamorum  colentes  umbras,"  —  cultiva- 
tors of  their  boudoirs.  "  Impressions,"  he  says,  "  of  every 
sort,  were  easily  made  on  creatures  of  this  tender  sort,  as 
on  things  allied  to  the  element  of  water  ;  whereas,  rustic 
women  laboring  out  of  doors,  and  exposed  to  the  sun, 


*  From  Cowper's  translation  of  the  poem,  we  extract  the  passage  referred 
to:  — 

"  Health,  Hebe's  sister,  sent  us  from  the  skies, 
And  thou,  Apollo,  whom  all  sickness  flies, 
Pythius,  or  P«an,  or  what  name  divine 
Soe'er  thou  choose,  haste,  heal  a  priest  of  thine  I 
Ye  groves  of  Faunus,  and  ye  hills  that  melt 
With  vinous  dews,  where  meek  Evander  dwelt  I 
If  aught  salubrious  in  your  confines  grow, 
Strive  which  shall  soonest  heal  your  poet's  woe, 
That,  render'd  to  the  Muse  he  loves,  again 
He  may  enchant  the  meadows  with  his  strain. 
Numa,  reclined  in  everlasting  ease 
Amid  the  shade  of  dark  embowering  trees, 
Viewing  with  eyes  of  unabated  fire 
His  loved  ^Egeria,  shall  that  strain  admire : 
So  soothed,  the  tumid  Tiber  shall  revere 
The  tombs  of  kings,  nor  desolate  the  year, 
Shall  curb  his  waters  with  a  friendly  rein, 
And  guide  them  harmless,  till  they  meet  the  main."  — Ed. 


l88  SIRENS    AND    MERMAIDS. 

became  "hispid  "and  case-hardened,  and  therefore  deserv- 
edly lost  the  name  of  nymphs.* 


THE    SIRENS    AND    MERMAIDS    OF   THE 
POETS. 

EAVING  JEaca.  on  their  homeward  voy- 
age," says  Mr.  Keightley,  in  his  excellent 
"  Mythology,"  "  Odysseus  (Ulysses)  and  his 
companions  came  first  to  the  islands  of  the 
Sirens.  These  were  two  maidens,  who  sat 
in  a  mead  close  to  the  sea,  and  with  their  melodious  voices 
so  charmed  those  who  were  sailing  by  that  they  forgot 
home,  and  every  thing  relating  to  it,  and  abode  there  till 
their  bones  lay  whitening  on  the  strand.  By  the  direc- 
tions of  Circe,  Odysseus  stopped  the  ears  of  his  companions 
with  wax,  and  had  himself  tied  to  the  mast ;  and  thus  he 
was  the  only  person  who  heard  the  song  of  the  Sirens, 
and  escaped. 

"  Hesiod  f  describes  the  mead  of  the  Sirens  as  bloom- 
ing with  flowers,  and  says  that  their  voice  stilled  the  winds. 
Their  names  were  said  to  be  Aglaiophdme  {Clear-voice), 
and  Thelxiepeia  {Magic-speech).  It  was  feigned  that  they 
threw  themselves  into  the  sea  with  vexation  at  the  escape 
of  Odysseus  ;  but  the  author  of  the  "  Orphic  Argonautics  " 
places  them  on  a  rock  near  the  shore  of  /Etna,  and  makes 
the  song  of  Orpheus  end  their  enchantment,  and  cause 
them  to  fling  themselves  into  the  sea. 


*  Sunt  prseterea,  &c.  —  "  Genealogia  Deorum,"  lib.  vii.  cap.  14. 
t  Frag,  xxvii. 


SIRENS   AND   MERMAIDS.  189 

"It  was  afterwards  fabled  *  that  they  were  the  daughters 
of  the  river-god  Achelous,  by  one  of  the  Muses.  Some  said 
that  they  sprang  from  the  blood  which  ran  from  him  when 
his  horn  was  torn  off  by  Hercules.  Sophocles  calls  them 
the  daughters  of  Phorcys. 

"  Contrary  to  the  usual  process,  the  mischievous  part 
of  the  character  of  the  Sirens  was,  in  process  of  time,  left 
out,  and  they  were  regarded  as  purely  musical  beings, 
with  entrancing  voices.  Hence  Plato,  in  his  '  Republic,' 
places  one  of  them  on  each  side  of  the  eight  celestial 
spheres,  where  their  voices  form  what  is  called  the  music  of 
the  spheres  ;  and  when  the  Lacedasmonians  invaded  Attica, 
Dionysius,  it  is  said,  appeared  in  a  dream  to  their  general, 
ordering  him  to  pay  all  funeral  honors  to  the  new  Siren, 
which  was  at  once  understood  to  be  Sophocles,  then  just 
dead.f 

"  Eventually,  however,  the  artists  laid  hold  on  the  Sirens, 
and  furnished  them  with  the  feathers,  feet,  wings,  and  tails 
of  birds."  % 

According  to  this  statement  of  our  best  English  mythol- 
ogist,  the  Sirens  were  but  two.  It  is  not  a  little  surpris- 
ing, however,  that  so  careful  a  writer  has  omitted  to  notice 
the  various  accounts  of  their  number,  and  the  prevailing 
opinion  of  its  having  been  three.  "  Fulgentius  and  Servius 
affirm,"  says  Boccaccio,  "that  the  Sirens  were  three, — 
one  of  them  singing  with  the  voice  alone,  another  to  the 
lyre,  and  a  third  playing  on  the  flute.  Leontius,  however," 
he  continues,  "  says  there  were  four,  and  that  the  fourth 
sang  to  the  timbrel."     And  a  little  further  on,  our  Italian 


*  Apollod.   i.  3.  t  Pausan.  i.  31. 

X    "  Mythology  of  Ancient  Greece  and   Italy.     By  Thomas  Keightley, 
p.  246. 


I90  SIRENS    AND    MERMAIDS. 

brings  them  up  to  five ;  *  and  this  is  the  number  (as  we 
shall  see),  which  is  assigned  them  by  Spenser. 

Mr.  Keightley,  who  has  a  just  reverence  for  the  oldest 
Greek  authorities,  and  as  proper  a  suspicion  of  Latin 
sources  of  fable,  will  stick  to  his  Hesiod,  and  not  care 
what  is  said  by  the  later  poets.  His  caution  becomes  a 
teacher  ;  but  as  mythologies  may,  with  others,  be  reason- 
ably looked  upon  as  of  a  more  large  and  inclusive  character, 
even  to  the  admission  of  modern  inventions,  provided  they 
be  the  work  of  great  poets,  the  popular  number  of  three 
may  ordinarily  be  allowed  to  the  Sirens ;  and  when  we 
come  to  Spenser,  I,  for  one,  must  take  the  freedom  of 
believing  in  five.  Any  true  poet,  not  only  after  his  death, 
like  Sophocles,  but  before,  is  himself  a  Siren,  who  makes 
me  believe  what  he  pleases  while  he  is  about  it. 

The  Sirens,  then,  are  more  particularly  taken  for  three 
sisters,  monstrous  in  figure,  but  charming  in  face  and 
voice,  who  used  to  stand  upon  a  place  near  the  coast  of 
Naples,  and  with  alluring  songs  enticed  wayfarers  to  their 
destruction.  Some  say  the  victims  perished  for  want  of 
food,  pining  and  dying  away,  unable  to  do  any  thing  but 
listen ;  others,  that  the  three  sisters  devoured  them ; 
others,  that  they  tumbled  them  out  of  their  ships.  The 
whole  place  was  strewn  with  bones,  and  shone  afar  off 
with  the  whiteness,  like  cliffs  ;  and  yet  neither  this,  nor 
their  monstrous  figure,  visible  on  nearer  approach,  hin- 
dered the  infatuated  men  from  doting  on  their  faces  and 
sweet  sounds ;  till,  getting  closer  and  closer,  they  glided 
headlong  into  the  snare. 

Ulysses  had  a  permission,  of  which  he  availed  himself, 

*  "Delia  Genealogia  degli  Dei,"  p.  123.  (A  translation  of  his  Latin  work. 
I  quote  from  both  these  books  in  the  present  article,  not  having  the  latter  by 
me  when  I  wrote  the  above  passage.) 


SIRENS   AND    MERMAIDS.  191 

to  hear  their  song  ;  but  it  cost  him  a  desperate  struggle. 
He  ordered  himself  to  be  chained,  and  then  to  be  un- 
chained ;  but  the  sailors  would  only  stand  by  the  better 
orders,  and  put  more  chains  upon  him.  So,  the  vessel 
shooting  away,  the  sounds  gradually  died  off",  and  he  was 
saved.  Upon  this,  the  Sirens  threw  themselves  into  the 
sea,  and  perished.  The  only  man  (according  to  some) 
who  had  passed  them  before,  was  Orpheus,  who,  raising  a 
hymn  to  the  gods,  in  counterpart  to  their  profaner  warble, 
sailed  along  with  his  Argonauts,  harping  and  triumphant. 
To  one  who  has  read  the  life  of  Alfieri,  it  is  impossible 
not  to  be  reminded  of  him  by  this  story  of  Ulysses  ;  how 
he  had  himself  bound  down  in  his  chair,  to  avoid  going  to 
see  his  mistress  ;  and  how  he  struggled  and  raved  to  no 
purpose  ;  imitating  Orpheus  at  intervals,  by  going  on  with 
his  verses.  The  reader  will  have  seen,  however,  that  the 
destruction  of  the  Sirens  has  been  attributed  to  Orpheus  ; 
so  that,  according  to  the  writer  of  those  Argonautics,  the 
story  of  Ulysses  is  a  fiction,  even  in  the  regions  of  fic- 
tion ! 

The  song  of  the  Sirens  in  Homer  is  not  worthy  of  the 
great  poet,  being,  indeed,  rather  the  promise  of  one,  than 
the  song  itself.  It  is  true,  the  subject  is  adapted  to  the 
hearer ;  and  we  must  not  forget  that  this  adaptation  of 
themselves  to  the  person  who  was  to  be  tempted,  was  one 
among  the  artifices  of  the  Sirens,  and  none  of  their  least 
seductive.  But  they  say  little  or  nothing  to  the  hero,  in 
point  of  fact.  The  temptation  must  have  lain  in  the 
promise  and  the  sound.  William  Browne,  a  disciple  of 
Spenser,  and  not  unworthy  of  him,  has  given  a  song  of  the 
Sirens  in  his  "  Inner  Temple  Masque,"  which  a  modern 
Ulysses  would  at  least  reckon  more  tempting  to  his 
sailors :  — 


I92  SIRENS    AND    MERMAIDS. 

"  Steer,  hither  steer  your  winged  pines, 
All  beaten  mariners ; 
Here  lie  love's  undiscover'd  mines, 

A  prey  to  passengers  ; 
Perfumes  far  sweeter  than  the  best 
Which  make  the  phoenix'  urn  and  nest. 

Fear  not  your  ships, 
Nor  any  to  oppose  you,  save  our  lips ; 
But  come  on  shore, 
Where  no  joy  dies  till  love  hath  gotten  more. 

[These  two  last  lines  are   repeated,  as   chorus,  from  a 
grove.] 

"  For  swelling  waves  our  panting  breasts, 
Where  never  storms  arise, 
Exchange,  and  be  awhile  our  guests ; 

For  stars  gaze  on  our  eyes. 
The  compass  love  shall  hourly  sing ; 
And  as  he  goes  about  the  ring, 

We  will  not  miss 
To  tell  each  point  he  nameth  with  a  kiss. 
Chorus.    Then  come  on  shore, 

Where  no  joy  dies  till  love  hath  gotten  more." 

The  shape  of  the  Sirens  has  been  variously  represented. 
Some  say  (and  this,  we  believe,  is  held  to  be  the  most  or- 
thodox description)  *  that  they  were  entire  birds,  with  the 
exception  of  a  beautiful  human  face.  Others,  that  they 
were  half  birds  and  half  women,  the  female  being  the 
upper  part.f  Others,  that  they  were  half  women  and  half 
fish ;  that  is  to  say,  mermaids  ;  %  and  this  figure  has  again 
been  varied  by  wings,  and  the  feet  of  a  hen.  §     If  they 


*  "  Lempriere,"  Art.  "Sirenes."      t  "Natalis  Comes,"  lib.  vii.  cap.  13. 

%  "Vossius  and  Pontanus."  (See  Todd's  "Spenser,"  vol.  iv.  p.  196,  and 
Sandys's  "  Ovid,"  p.  101. 

§  "  Boccaccio,  Geneal.  Deor.,"  p.  56  Browne  has  taken  his  Sirens  "  as 
they  are  described  by  Hyginus  and  Servius,  with  their  upper  parts  like  women 
to  the  navel,  and  the  rest  like  a  hen." 


SIRENS   AND    MERMAIDS.  I93 

were  only  human-faced  birds,  they  must  have  confined 
their  attractions  to  singing ;  for  hands  are  required  to  play 
the  musical  instruments  which  are  sometimes  given  them. 
But  there  were  three  of  them,  which  is  more  than  enough 
for  harmony ;  and  if,  in  addition  to  their  harmony,  they 
had  beautiful  faces,  it  is  no  matter  how  monstrously  they 
terminated :  the  more  monstrous  the  charmer,  the  more 
ghastly  and  complete  the  fiction. 

These  appalling  seducers,  according  to  some,  were 
originally  sea-nymphs  of  the  proper  shape,  till  Ceres  pun- 
ished them  for  not  assisting  her  daughter  when  carried 
away  by  Pluto  ;  though  Ovid  says  that  they  took  that 
adventure  so  much  to  heart,  as  to  beg  the  gods  to  bestow 
wings  on  them,  that  they  might  search  for  her  by  sea  as 
well  as  by  land.  It  is  added  by  others,  that  Juno  (jealous, 
we  suppose,  after  the  usual  fashion  of  that  very  uncom- 
fortable and  sublime  busybody)  encouraged  them  to  chal- 
lenge the  Muses  to  a  trial  of  song ;  upon  which,  being 
conquered,  their  kinswoman  plucked  them,  and  made 
crowns  of  their  feathers.  This  is  said  to  have  taken  place 
in  Crete.  If  so,  they  must  have  migrated ;  for  they  are 
generally  supposed  to  have  inhabited  certain  islands  on 
the  coast  of  Naples,  thence  called  Sirenusae,  where  an 
oracle  informed  them  that,  unless  they  could  entice  and 
destroy  every  one  who  passed  within  hearing,  they  should 
perish  themselves.  When  their  fatal  hour  came,  they  are 
reported  by  some  to  have  been  changed  into  rocks,  a  fit 
ending  for  the  hardness  of  sensuality.* 

*  But  this,  it  seems,  was  not  the  last  of  the  Sirens.  "  Their  crimes,"  says 
W.  J.  Broderip,  "  were  not  sufficiently  expiated.  Years  rolled  on  their  cease- 
less course.  Greece  was  swallowed  up  by  Rome,  who  in  her  turn  fell  at 
the  feet  of  the  Goth ;  and  in  the  fulness  of  time  there  arose  a  wizard  from  the 
great  northern  hive,  he  of  the  polar  star,  who  waved  his  wand,  aroused  the 

13 


194  SIRENS    AND    MERMAIDS. 

Various  names  have  been  given  to  the  Sirens,  expres- 
sive of  their  attractions.  The  most  received  are  Leucosia, 
Parthenope,  and  Ligeia  ;  or 

"  The  Fair,  the  Tuneful,  and  the  Maiden-faced." 

(It  is  impossible,  on  such  an  occasion,  to  resist  giving  the 
aspect  of  a  verse,  to  words  naturally  tempting  us  to  fall 
into  one.)*  Ligeia,  however,  may  perhaps  be  rather 
translated  the  shrill  and  high-sounding j  expressive  of 
the  triumphant  nature  of  the  female  voice,  —  which  rises 
above  all  others,  in  a  very  peculiar  and  consummate  man- 
ner, as  any  one  may  have  noticed  in  a  theatre.  Parthenope 
had  a  famous  tomb  at  Naples,  and  gave  her  appellation  to 
the  old  city.  The  mention  of  these  two  names  in  Milton 
is  not  introduced  with  the  poet's  usual  learning  ;  otherwise, 
he  would  have  designated  the  bearers  by  the  meanings  of 
them.  He  has  given  Ligeia  the  comb  of  a  mermaid  ;  the 
spirit  in  "  Comus  "  is  adjuring  the  nymph  Sabrina  :  — 

"  By  Thetis'  tinsel-slipper'd  feet, 
And  the  songs  of  Sirens  sweet  ; 
By  dead  Parthenope's  dear  tomb, 
And  fair  Ligeia's  golden  comb, 
Wherewith  she  sits  on  diamond  rocks 
Sleeking  her  soft  alluring  locks." 

We  do  not  quarrel  with  him,  however,  for  turning  Ligeia 

Sirens  from  the  annihilation  into  which  they  had  escaped,  and  degenerated 
them  into  one  of  the  lowest  reptile  forms  of  America,"  —  the  Perennibran- 
chiate  Batrachian.  If  you  wish  to  know  what  a  Perennibranchiate  Batrachian 
is,  reader,  we  refer  you  to  Mr.  Broderip's  pleasant  "  Leaves  from  the  Note- 
Book  of  a  Naturalist." —  Ed. 

*  "  Country  gentlemen,"  however,  must  not  think  that  these  names  have 
been  translated  in  the  order  of  the  Greek ;  for  it  is  "  Parthenope  "  which  is 
"maiden-faced,"  and  not  Ligeia.  But  it  would  have  had  a  horrible  gaping 
sound,  and  most  unsiren-like,  to  let  the  terminating  vowel  of  either  of  the  two 
other  names  come  before  an  and —  Leucosia,  Ligeia,  and  Parthenope. 


SIRENS    AND    MERMAIDS.  I95 

into  a  mermaid.  A  great  poet,  being  one  of  the  creating 
gods  of  his  art,  has  a  right  to  mould  his  creatures  as  he 
pleases,  provided  he  does  it  with  verisimilitude  ;  but  we 
shall  speak  more  of  this  in  a  minute,  when  we  come  to  see 
what  Spenser  has  done.  "Sleeking  her  soft  alluring 
locks  "  is  a  very  beautiful  line  ;  you  see,  and,  indeed  hear, 
the  passage  of  the  comb  through  those  moist  tresses. 

Allegorically,  the  Sirens  are  sensual  pleasures,  who, 
though  deriving  their  charms  from  one  of  the  Muses,  are 
conquered  by  a  combination  of  all.  Topographically  (for 
they  have  been  accounted  for,  also  in  that  manner),  they 
are  said  to  have  alluded  to  "  a  certaine  bay,  contracted 
within  winding  straights  and  broken  clifFes  ;  which,  by  the 
singing  of  the  windes,  and  beating  of  the  billowes,  report " 
(says  Archimachus,  as  quoted  by  Sandys),  "a  delightful 
harmony,  alluring  those  who  saile  by  to  approach  ;  when 
forthwith  they  are  throwne  against  the  rocks  by  the 
waves,  and  swallowed  in  the  violent  eddyes."  *  Humanly, 
they  are  thought  to  have  been  a  set  of  enticing  women, 
living  on  the  coast  of  Naples  (where  divers  of  the  like 
sort,  as  Sandys  would  have  said,  may  to  this  day  be  found), 
and  alluring  strangers  to  stop  among  them,  by  the  pleas- 
ures and  accomplishments  with  which  they  were  sur- 
rounded. But  we  are  told  of  them,  also,  zoologically ;  for 
some  have  taken  them  for  certain  Indian  birds,  who  set 
mariners  to  sleep  with  their  singing  and  then  devour  them  ; 
while  "  some,  as  Gaza  and  Trapezuntius  "  (quoth  our  old 
friend),  "  affirme  that  they  have  seene  such  creatures  in 
the  sea  ;  either  the  divells  assuming  such  shape,  to  coun- 
tenance the  fable,  or  framed  in  the  fantasie  by  remote 
resemblances,  as  we  give  imaginary  formes  unto  clouds, 

*  See  the  Notes  to  the  Fifth  Book  of  his  "  Ovid,"  fol.  edit  p.  101. 


I96  SIRENS    AND    MERMAIDS. 

and  call  those  monsters  of  the  deepe  by  the  names  of 
land-creatures,  which  imperfectly  carry  their  similitude." 

It  is  easy  to  see  how  Sirens,  living  near  the  sea,  came 
to  be  considered  mermaids.  A  modern  Latin  poet,  quoted 
by  Sandys  (Pontanus),  adopted  this  notion,  and  has  a 
fable  of  his  own  upon  it.  He  says  that  the  Sirens  were 
certain  Neapolitan  young  ladies,  who,  not  content  with 
being  handsome  and  accomplished,  took  to  wearing  paint 
and  false  hair,  and  went  with  their  necks  bare  to  the 
waist,  — for  which  Minerva  one  day,  as  they  were  coming 
out  of  her  temple,  suddenly  turned  their  pretty  ankles 
into  fish-tails,  and  sent  them  rolling  into  the  sea.  The 
poet  writes  this  history  in  an  epistle  to  his  wife,  as  a  warn- 
ing to  all  pretty  church-goers  how  they  paint  and  expose 
themselves. 

The  writer  of  the  piscatory  Italian  drama,  entitled 
"  Alceo  "  (Act  IV.  sc.  I.),  gives  the  same  figure  to  the 
Sirens,  but  differs  from  most  in  his  account  of  their 
cruelty.  He  says,  that  after  stopping  mariners  in  their 
course,  they  went  to  the  vessel,  instead  of  drawing  it 
ashore,  and  threw  the  wretches  into  the  sea. 

The  moderns,  in  general,  have  certainly  regarded  the 
Siren  as  a  mermaid.  Milton  chose  to  be  of  that  opinion, 
as  we  may  gather  from  the  passage  above  quoted.  Chau- 
cer, in  his  translation  of  the  "  Romance  of  the  Rose,"  has 
inserted  some  lines,  expressly  to  inform  us  that  what  was 
called  a  mermaid  in  England,  the  French  called  a  Siren. 

"  These  birdes  that  I  you  devise, 
They  sung  their  song  as  fair  and  well 
As  angels  don  espirituell  ; 
And  trusteth  me,  when  I  them  herd 
Full  lustily  and  well  I  ferd ; 
For  never  yet  such  melody 
Was  heard  of  men  that  mighte  die. 
Such  sweet  song  was  them  among, 


SIRENS   AND    MERMAIDS.  1 97 

That  me  thought  it  no  birdes  song, 

But  it  was  wonder  like  to  be 

Song  of  meremaidens  of  the  sea, 

That  for  their  singing  is  so  clear ; 

Though  we  meremaidens  clepe  them  here 

In  English,  as  is  our  usaunce, 

Men  clepe  them  sereins  in  Fraunce." 

But  if  a  poet  required  express  authority  in  this  matter, 
it  is  furnished  him  by  the  great  modern  mythologist,  Spen- 
ser, who,  though  he  had  all  the  learning  of  the  ancient 
world,  vindicated  his  right  to  look  at  the  world  of  poetry 
with  his  own  eyes,  and  to  recreate  its  forms,  like  a  De- 
miurgos,  whenever  it  suited  his  purposes  to  do  so.  He 
knew  that  no  man  better  understood  the  soul  of  fiction, 
and  therefore,  that  it  was  not  only  allowable,  but  some- 
times proper,  for  him  to  embody  it  as  he  found  convenient. 
There  is  something,  we  confess,  to  our  apprehensions  more 
ghastly  and  subtle  in  the  ancient  notion  of  a  bird  with  a 
woman's  head  ;  but  Spenser,  in  the  passage  where  he  intro- 
duces his  Sirens,  precedes  and  follows  it  with  an  account 
of  things  dreadful,  and  is  for  placing  nothing  but  a  calm 
voluptuousness  in  the  middle.  After  all,  we  are  not  sure 
that  there  would  not  have  been  a  subtler  link  with  his 
birds  "unfortunate,"  had  he  made  his  charmers  partake 
of  their  nature  ;  but,  however,  mermaids  he  has  painted 
them,  and  mermaids  they  are  for  all  poets  to  come,  unless 
a  greater  shall  arise  to  say  otherwise  :  — 

"  And  now  they  nigh  approached  to  the  sted 

Whereat  those  mermayds  dwelt.     It  was  a  still 

And  calmy  bay,  on  th'  one  side  sheltered 

With  the  brode  shadow  of  an  hoarie  hill ; 

On  th'  other  side  an  high  rocke  toured  still, 

That  'twixt  them  both  a  pleasaunt  port  they  made, 

And  did  like  an  halfe  theatre  fulfill. 

There  those  five  sisters  had  continuall  trade, 
And  used  to  bath  themselves  in  that  deceiptfull  shade. 


I98  SIRENS    AND    MERMAIDS. 

"  They  were  faire  ladies,  till  they  fondly  striv'd 

With  th'  Heliconian  maides  for  maystery  ; 

Of  whom  they  overcomen  were  depriv'd 

Of  their  proud  beautie,  and  th'  one  moyity 

Transform'd  to  fish  for  their  bold  surquedry  ; 

But  th'  upper  halfe  their  hue  retayned  still, 

And  their  sweet  skill  in  wonted  melody ; 

Which  ever  after  they  abus'd  to  ill, 
To  allure  weeke  travellers,  whom  gotten  they  did  kill. 

"  So  now  to  Guyon,  as  he  passed  by, 
Their  pleasaunt  tunes  they  sweetly  thus  applyde ; 
'  O  thou  faire  Sonne  of  gentle  Faery, 
That  art  in  mightie  armes  most  magnifyde 
Above  all  knights  that  ever  batteill  tryde, 
O  turne  thy  rudder  hetherward  awhile  : 
Here  may  thy  storm-beat  vessell  safely  ryde ; 
This  is  the  port  of  rest  from  troublous  toyle, 
The  world's  sweet  inn,  from  payne  and  wearisome  turmoyle' 

"  With  that  the  rolling  sea,  resounding  soft, 
In  his  big  base  them  fitly  answered  ; 
And  on  the  rocke,  the  waves,  breaking  aloft, 
A  solemn  meane  into  them  measured  ; 
The  whiles  sweet  Zephyrus  lowd  whisteled 
His  treble,  a  straunge  kinde  of  harmony  ; 
Which  Guyon's  senses  softly  tickeled, 
That  he  the  boteman  bade  row  easily, 
And  let  him  heare  some  part  of  their  rare  melody." 

Book  II.  c.  12. 

"  It  is  plain,"  says  Jortin,  in  a  note  on  this  passage, 
"  that  Spenser  designed  here  to  describe  the  mermaids  as 
sirens.  He  has  done  it  contrary  to  mythology  ;  for  the 
sirens  were  not  part  women  and  part  "fishes,  as  Spenser 
and  other  moderns  have  imagined,  but  part  women  and 
part  birds."  Upon  which  Upton  remarks,  "  By  the  sirens 
are  imagined  sensual  pleasures  ;  hence  Spenser  makes 
their  number  five.  But  should  you  ask,  why  did  not 
Spenser  follow  rather  the  ancient  poets  and  mythologists, 
than  the  moderns,  in  making  them  mermaids  ?  my  answer 


SIRENS    AND    MERMAIDS.  1 99 

is,  Spenser  has  a  mythology  of  his  own ;  nor  would  belie 
his  brethren  the  romance  writers,  where  merely  authority 
is  to  be  put  against  authority." 

We  have  thus  three  out  of  our  four  great  poets,  who 
are  for  taking  sirens  as  mermaids  ;  and  the  fourth  is  not 
wanting.  Shakespeare's  "  Mermaid  on  a  dolphin's  back," 
is  part  of  an  allegory  on  England  and  Queen  Elizabeth, 
and  is  the  most  poetical  bit  of  politics  on  record  ;  but  it 
shows  that  he  entertained  the  same  mixed  notion  of  the 
mermaid  and  siren. 

"  Once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory, 
And  heard  a  mermaid  on  a  dolphin's  back 
Uttering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath, 
That  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song, 
And  certain  stars  shot  madly  from  their  spheres, 
To  hear  the  sea-maid's  music." 

Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 

A  siren  then,  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word,  may  be 
regarded  as  a  mermaid  who  sings.  Metaphorically,  a 
siren  is  any  female  who  charms  by  singing ;  and  this 
is  the  most  ancient  acceptation  of  the  term,  as  Plato  has 
shown,  by  calling  the  presiders  over  the  spheres  of  heaven 
sirens. 

"Then  listen  I," 

says  the  Genius  in  Milton's  "  Arcades," 

"  To  the  celestial  Syrens'  harmony, 
That  sit  upon  the  nine  infolded  spheres." 

The  word,  by  the  way,  should  be  spelled  with  an  t,  the 
Greek  word  not  being  syren  but  seiren;  which,  according 
to  Bochart,  comes  from  the  Phoenician  seir,  a  singer.  In 
this  etymology,  we  are  carried  back  to  the  probable  origin 
of  these  and  a  great  many  other  marvels,  which  may  have 
commenced  with  the    primeval  navigators,  who  had  the 


200  SIRENS    AND    MERMAIDS. 

world  fresh  before  them,  and  fanciful  eyes  to  see  with.  If 
the  fair  inhabitants  of  the  south  of  Italy  resembled  in  those 
days  what  they  are  now  (and  climate  and  other  local  cir- 
cumstances render  it  probable),  a  crew  of  Phoenician 
adventurers  had  only  to  touch  at  the  coast  of  Naples  to 
bring  away  the  story  at  once.  In  the  south,  where  there 
is  more  luxury  than  fishing,  the  songs  of  their  mistresses 
might  suggest  that  of  birds,  and  the  sirens  be  gifted  with 
plumage.  Had  they  gone  to  the  northern  seas,  where 
there  was  more  fishing  than  luxury,  the  siren  would  have 
been  the  mermaid  ;  and  it  is  possible,  that  from  the  roman- 
ces of  the  north,  the  modern  idea  descended  into  the 
poetry  of  Italy  and  of  Spenser. 

"  The  havfrue  (half-woman)  or  mermaid,"  says  Mr. 
Keightley,  whom  we  meet  in  all  the  pleasant  places  of 
fiction,  "  is  represented  in  the  popular  tradition  (of  Scan- 
dinavia) sometimes  as  a  good,  at  other  times  as  an  evil 
and  treacherous,  being.  She  is  beautiful  in  her  appear- 
ance. Fishermen  sometimes  see  her  in  the  bright  sum- 
mer's sun,  when  a  thin  mist  hangs  over  the  sea,  sitting 
on  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  combing  her  long  golden 
hair  with  a  golden  comb,  or  driving  up  her  snow-white 
cattle  to  feed  on  the  strands  and  small  islands.  At  other 
times  she  comes  as  a  beautiful  tnaid,  chilled  and  shiver- 
ing with  the  cold  of  the  night,  to  the  fires  the  fishers  have 
kindled,  hoping  by  this  means  to  entice  them  to  her  love. 
Her  appearance  prognosticates  both  storm  and  ill-success 
in  their  fishing.  People  that  are  drowned,  and  whose 
bodies  are  not  found,  are  believed  to  have  been  taken  into 
the  dwellings  of  the  mermaids.  These  beings  are  also 
supposed  to  have  the  power  of  foretelling  future  events. 
A  mermaid,  we  are  told,  prophesied  the  birth  of  Christian 
IV.  of  Denmark ;  and 


SIRENS   AND    MERMAIDS.  201 

'  En  Havfrue  op  af  Vandet  steg, 

Og  spaade  Herr  Sinklar  ilde.' 

Sinclair's  "  Visa." 
'  A  mermaid  from  the  water  rose, 

And  spaed  Sir  Sinclar  ill.'  * 

These  visions  have  naturally  taken  a  still  more  palpable 
shape  with  some  dwellers  near  the  sea,  and  craft  has 
endeavored  to  profit  by  them  in  the  exhibition  of  their 
actual  bodies.  The  author  of  an  agreeable  abstract  of 
zoology,  published  some  years  back,  tells  us  of  a  King  of 
Portugal,  and  a  Grand  Master  of  the  Order  of  St.  James, 
who  "had  a  suit  at  law  to  determine  which  class  of  ani- 
mals these  monsters  belong  to,  either  man  or  fish.  This," 
he  adds,  "  is  a  sort  of  inductive  proof  that  such  animals 
had  been  then  seen  and  closely  examined ;  unless  we 
suppose  that,  as  in  the  case  of  the  child  said  to  have  been 
born  with  a  golden  tooth,  the  discussion  took  place  before 
the  fact  was  ascertained."  f 

We  ought  to  know,  on  these  occasions,  whether  the 
mermaid  is  caught  fresh,  or  only  shown  after  death  like  a 
mummy.  An  exhibition  of  the  latter  kind  took  place  some 
years  since  in  London,  and  was  soon  detected;  but  so 
many  deceptions  of  the  sort  have  been  practised,  that 
naturalists  seem  to  think  it  no  longer  worth  their  while 
to  talk  about  them.  A  piece  of  one  animal  is  joined  to 
another,  and  the  two  are  dried  together.  Linnaeus  ex- 
posed an  imposition  of  this  kind  during  his  travels  on  the 
Continent,  and  is  said  to  have  been  obliged  to  leave  the 
town  for  it 

The  writer  just  quoted  proceeds  to  inform  us,  that  "  in 


*  "  Fairy  Mythology,"  vol.  i.  p.  241. 

t  "  A  description  of  more  than  Three  Hundred  Animals,  &c,  with  an  Ap- 
pendix on  Allegorical  and  Fabulous  Animals,"  1826  ;  p.  363. 


202  SIRENS    AND    MERMAIDS. 

the  year  1560,  on  the  western  coasts  of  the  Island  of  Cey- 
lon, some  fishermen  are  said  to  have  brought  up,  at  one 
draught  of  a  net,  seven  mermen  and  maids,  of  which 
several  Jesuits,  and  among  them  F.  H.  Henriquez,  and 
Dinas  Bosquey,  physician  to  the  Viceroy  of  Goa,  are 
reported  to  have  been  witnesses  ;  and  it  is  added,"  he  says, 
"  that  the  physician  who  examined  them,  and  made  dis- 
sections of  them  with  a  great  deal  of  care,  asserted  that 
all  the  parts,  both  internal  and  external,  were  found  per- 
fectly conformable  to  those  of  men." 

"  Several  Jesuits,"  we  fear,  will  be  regarded  as  no  better 
authority  than  the  "  five  justices  "  of  Autolycus :  — 

Aut.  Here's  another  ballad,  of  a  fish,  that  appeared  upon  the  coast  on 
Wednesday,  the  fourscore  of  April,  forty  thousand  fathom  above  water,  and 
sung  this  ballad  against  the  hard  hearts  of  maids.  It  was  thought  she  was  a 
woman,  and  was  turned  into  a  cold  fish,  for  she  would  not  exchange  flesh  with 
one  that  loved  her.     The  ballad  is  very  pitiful,  and  as  true. 

Dorcas.     Is  it  true  too,  think  you  ? 

Aut.  Five  justices'  hands  at  it  !  and  witnesses  more  than  my  pack  will 
hold."  —  Winter's  Tale,  Act  iv.  sc.  3. 

A  later  edition  (if  I  mistake  not,  for  I  had  but  a  glance  of 
it)  of  the  same  work,  goes  almost  so  far  as  to  intimate  its 
belief  in  a  mermaid's  having  been  seen  by  a  lady,  off  the 
coast  of  Scotland,  in  company  with  three  other  specta- 
tors. The  names  are  mentioned,  and  letters  and  deta's 
given.  That  the  persons  in  question  thought  they  beheld 
such  a  creature,  is  to  be  conceded,  supposing  the  doc- 
uments to  be  genuine  ;  nor  would  it  become  any  reason- 
able sceptic,  especially  in  a  time  like  the  present,  to  say 
what  is  or  is  not  probable  on  the  part  of  creation.*  But 
it  is  to  be  feared  that  in  this,  as  in  the  demands  of  a  less 


*  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  "  The  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  mentions 
this  phenomenon,  and  says  that  the  evidence  serves  to  show  "  either  that  imag- 


SIRENS   AND    MERMAIDS.  203 

intellectual  appetite,  your  fish  must  be  "  caught "  before  it 
is  swallowed.  Extraordinary  particulars  were  given,  in  this 
instance,  of  the  human  aspect  of  the  vision,  of  its  tossing 
its  hair  back  from  its  brow,  and  its  being  much  annoyed  by 
a  bird  which  was  hovering  over  it,  and  which  it  warned  off 
repeatedly  with  its  hands.  The  most  ingenious  conject- 
ure I  ever  heard  advanced  respecting  the  ordinary  mistakes 
about  mermaids  was,  that  somebody  may  have  actually 
seen  a  mermaid,  comb  and  all,  dancing  in  the  water,  but 
that  it  was  a  figure  of  wood,  struck  off  from  some  ship- 
wrecked vessel. 

I  am  travelling  out  of  the  world,  however,  when  I  get 
into  these  realms  of  prose  and  matter-of-fact.  I  will  con- 
clude this  paper  with  the  two  most  striking  descriptions 
of  the  mermaid  I  ever  met  with  ;  —  one,  indeed,  purporting 
to  be  that  of  a  true  one,  but  evidently  of  the  wildest  ori- 
ental manufacture  ;  the  other,  in  the  pages  of  a  young 
living  poet,  worthy  of  the  name  in  its  most  poetical  sense. 

D'Herbelot,  in  his  article  on  the  "  Yagiouge  and  Magiou- 
ge  "  (Gog  and  Magog),  tells  us  of  a  certain  Salam,  who  was 
sent  by  Vathek,  ninth  Caliph  of  the  race  of  the  Abassides, 
to  explore  the  famous  Caspian  Gates,  and  who  being  in- 


itiation played  strange  tricks  with  the  witnesses,  or  that  the  existence  of  mer- 
maids is  no  longer  a  matter  of  question." 

Simon  Wilkin,  in  one  of  the  notes  to  his  edition  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne, 
makes  a  learned  and  ingenious  argument  on  the  probable  existence  of  the 
mermaid ;  and  De  Quincey  says  that  Southey  once  remarked  to  him,  that  if 
the  mermaid  had  been  differently  named  (as,  suppose,  a  mer-ape)  nobody 
would  have  questioned  its  existence  any  more  than  that  of  sea-cows,  sea-lions, 
&C.  "  The  mermaid  has  been  discredited  by  her  human  name  and  her  legen- 
dary human  habits.  If  she  would  not  coquette  so  much  with  melancholy  sailors, 
and  brush  her  hair  so  assiduously  upon  solitary  rocks,  she  would  be  carried  on 
our  books  for  as  honest  a  reality,  as  decent  a  female,  as  many  that  are  as- 
sessed to  the  poor-rates."  —  Ed. 


204  SIRENS   AND    MERMAIDS. 

vited  by  the  lord  of  the  country  to  go  and  fish  with  him, 
saw  an  enormous  fish  taken,  in  the  inside  of  which  was 
another  still  alive,  and  of  a  very  remarkable  description. 
It  had  the  figure  of  a  naked  girl  as  far  as  the  waist,  and 
wore,  down  to  its  knees,  a  sort  of  drawers  (caleqon)  made 
of  a  skin  like  a  man's.  //  kept  its  hands  over  its  face, 
tore  its  hair,  heaved  great  sighs,  and  remained  alive  but 
a  short  time.* 

This  circumstance  of  the  creature's  keeping  its  hands 
over  its  face,  is  really  a  fine  instance  of  the  ghastly  and 
the  pathetic.  She  seems  to  have  had  something  too  human 
in  her  countenance  to  wish  to  be  looked  at  by  a  similar 
face.  How  she  contrived  to  tear  her  hair,  without  letting 
her  face  be  seen,  we  are  not  told.  As  knees  are  men- 
tioned, we  are  to  suppose  that  the  fish  commenced  just 
below  them,  possibly  with  a  double  tail.  There  is  no 
predicating  how  such  extraordinary  young  ladies  will  ter- 
minate. 

Mr.  Tennyson's  mermaid  is  in  better  keeping ;  as  strange 
and  fantastic  as  need  be,  but  all  with  the  proper  fantastic 
truth;  just  as  such  a  creature  might  "live,  move,  and 
have  its  being,"  if  such  creatures  existed.  His  verse  is 
as  strong,  buoyant,  and  wilful  as  the  mermaid  herself  and 
the  billows  around  her  ;  and  nothing  can  be  happier,  or  in 
better  or  more  mysterious  sea-taste,  than  the  conglomera- 
tion of  the  wet  and  the  dry,  the  "  forked,  and  horned,  and 
soft "  phenomena  at  the  conclusion.  Mark,  too,  the  luxu- 
rious and  wilful  repetition  of  the  words,  "for  the  love  of 
me,"  and  of  the  rhyme  on  that  word. 

*  "  Bibliotheque  Orientale."    1783.    Tom.  iii.  p.  271. 


SIRENS   AND    MERMAIDS.  205 


THE   MERMAID. 

Who  would  be 
A  mermaid  fair, 
Singing  alone, 
Combing  her  hair 
Under  the  sea, 
In  a  golden  curl, 
With  a  comb  of  pearl, 
On  a  throne  ? 
/  would  be  a  mermaid  fair ; 
I  would  sing  to  myself  the  whole  of  the  day ; 
With  a  comb  of  pearl  I  would  comb  my  hair ; 
And  still  as  I  combed  I  would  sing  and  say, 

"  Who  is  it  loves  me  ?  who  loves  not  me  ?  " 
I  would  comb  my  hair  till  my  ringlets  would  fall, 

Low  adown,  low  adown, 
From  under  my  starry  sea-bud  crown, 

Low  adown  and  around : 
And  I  should  look  like  a  fountain  of  gold 
Springing  alone 
With  a  shrill  inner  sound, 

Over  the  throne 
In  the  midst  of  the  hall ; 
Till  that  great  sea-snake  under  the  sea, 
From  his  coiled  sleeps,  in  the  central  deeps, 
Would  slowly  trail  himself  sevenfold 
Round  the  hall  where  I  sate,  and  look  in  at  the  gate 
With  his  large  calm  eyes  for  the  love  of  me  ; 
And  all  the  mermen  under  the  sea 
Would  feel  their  immortality 
Die  in  their  hearts  for  the  love  of  me. 
But  at  night  I  would  wander  away,  away  ; 

I  would  fling  on  each  side  my  low-flowing  locks, 
And  lightly  vault  from  the  throne,  and  play 
With  the  mermen  in  and  out  of  the  rocks ; 
We  would  run  to  and  fro,  and  hide  and  seek, 

On  the  broad  seawolds,  in  the  crimson  shells, 
Whose  silvery  spikes  are  nighest  the  sea. 
But  if  any  came  near  I  would  call,  and  shriek, 
And  adown  the  steep  like  a  wave  I  would  leap, 

From  the  diamond  ledges  that  jut  from  the  dells  ; 
For  I  would  not  be  kist  by  all  who  would  list, 


206  TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA. 

Of  the  bold  merry  mermen  under  the  sea ; 

They  would  sue  me,  and  woo  me,  and  flatter  me, 

In  the  purple  twilights  under  the  sea ; 

But  the  king  of  them  all  would  carry  me, 

Woo  me,  and  win  me,  and  marry  me, 

In  the  branching  jaspers  under  the  sea ; 

Then  all  the  dry  pied  things  that  be 

In  the  lu<eless  mosses  under  the  sea 

Would  curl  round  my  silver  feet  silently, 

A 11  looking  ufi  for  the  love  of  me. 

And  if  T  should  carol  aloud,  from  aloft 

A  U  things  that  are  forked,  and  horned,  and  soft, 

Would  lean  out  from  the  hollow  sphere  of  the  sea, 

All  looking  down  for  the  love  of  me. 


TRITONS   AND   MEN   OF   THE   SEA. 

AVING  treated  of  Sirens,  mermaids,  and  other 
female  phenomena  connected  with  the  ocean, 
we  here  devote  an  article  to  its  male  gentry  — 
personages  for  whom,  though  we  may  speak 
of  them  with  a  certain  familiarity  on  the  strength  of  old 
acquaintance,  we  entertain  all  the  respect  due  to  their 
ancient  renown,  and  to  those  sacred  places  of  poetry  in 
which  they  are  still  to  be  found. 

And  first  of  the  most  ancient.  The  Triton  is  one  of  a 
numerous  race  begotten  by  Triton  the  son  of  Neptune, 
whose  conch  allayed  the  deluge  of  Deucalion.  Like  his 
ancestors,  he  is  half  a  man  and  half  a  fish,  with  a  great 
muscular  body,  and  a  tail  ending  in  a  crescent.  There  is 
a  variety  which  has  the  forefeet  of  a  horse.  And  some- 
times he  has  two  thighs  like  a  man,  or  great,  round, 
divided  limbs  resembling  thighs,  and  tending  to  the 
orbicular,  which  end   in  fish-tails  instead  of  legs.     He 


TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA.  207 

serves  Neptune  and  the  sea-nymphs ;  is  employed  in  calm- 
ing billows  and  helping  ships  out  of  danger ;  and  blows  a 
conch-shell  before  the  car  he  waits  on,  the  sound  of  which 
is  heard  on  the  remotest  shores,  and  causes  the  waves 
there  to  ripple.  You  may  see  him  in  all  his  jollity  in  the 
pictures  of  the  Italians,  waiting  upon  Galatea  and  sporting 
about  the  chariot  with  her  nymphs  ;  for  with  the  strength 
he  has  the  good  humor  of  the  most  gambolling  of  the 
great  fish  ;  and  when  not  employed  in  his  duties,  is  for 
ever  making  love,  and  tumbling  about  the  weltering  waters. 

In  one  of  the  divine  drawings  of  Raphael,  lately  exhib- 
ited in  St  Martin's-lane  (and  to  be  detained,  we  trust, 
among  us  for  ever,  lest  our  country  be  dishonored  for  want 
of  taste),  is  a  Triton  with  a  nymph  on  his  back,  whom  he 
is  carrying  through  the  water  in  a  style  of  exquisite  grace 
and  affectionateness  ;  for  the  higher  you  go  in  art,  the  more 
lovely  does  love  become,  and  the  more  raised  above  the 
animal  passion,  even  when  it  most  takes  it  along  with  it. 

Imagine  yourself  on  a  promontory  in  a  lone  sea,  during 
an  autumnal  morning,  when  the  heavens  retain  the  glad- 
ness of  summer-time,  and  yet  there  is  a  note  in  the  wind 
prophetical  of  winter,  and  you  shall  see  Neptune  come  by 
with  Amphitrite,  strenuously  drawn  through  the  billows, 
in  which  they  are  half  washed,  and  Triton  blowing  his 
conch  before  them. 


"  First  came  great  Neptune  with  his  three-forkt  mace, 
That  «ules  the  seas  and  makes  them  rise  or  fall ; 
His  dewy  lockes  did  drop  with  brine  apace 
Under  his  diademe  imperial! ; 
And  by  his  side  his  queene  with  coronall, 
Faire  Amphitrite,  most  divinely  faire, 
Whose  yvorie  shoulders  weren  covered  all 
A  s  with  a  robe  with  her  oivne  silver  haire. 
And  deckt  with  pearles  which  th'  Indian  seas  for  her  prepaire. 


2o8  TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA. 

A  nd  all  the  way  be/ore  them,  as  they  went, 
Triton,  his  trompet  shrill  before  them  blew, 
For  goodly  triumph  and  great  jolly  ment, 
That  made  the  rockes  to  roare  as  thev  were  rent." 
Faerie  Queene,  Book  iv.  Canto  xi. 

These  pearls  which  Amphitrite  wears,  were  probably 
got  for  her  by  the  Tritons,  who  are  great  divers.  In  one 
of  the  pictures  of  Rubens,  there  are  some  of  them  thrusting 
up  their  great  hands  out  of  the  sea  (the  rest  of  them  invis- 
ible), and  offering  pearls  to  a  queen. 

Some  writers  have  undertaken  to  describe  these  sea- 
deities  more  minutely,  and  as  partaking  a  great  deal  more 
of  the  brute-fish  than  the  man.  According  to  them,  the 
Triton  has  hair  like  water-parsley ;  gills  a  little  under  the 
ears  ;  the  nostrils  of  a  man  ;  a  wide  mouth  with  panther's 
teeth  ;  blue  eyes  ;  fins  under  the  breast  like  a  dolphin ; 
hands  and  fingers,  as  well  as  nails  of  a  shelly  substance  ; 
and  a  body  covered  with  small  scales  as  hard  as  a  file. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  he.  was  in  great  favor  with  the  sea-god- 
desses, and  has  to  boast  even  of  the  condescension  of 
Venus.  Hear  what  a  triumphant  note  he  strikes  up  in  the 
pages  of  Marino. 

Per  lo  Carpazio  mar  l'orrida  faccia 

Del  feroce  Triton  che  la  seguia, 

La  ritrosa  Cimotoe  un  di  fuggia 
Sicome  fera  sbigottita  in  caccia. 
Seguiala  il  rozzo  ;  e  con  spumose  braccia 

L'acque  battendo  e  ribattendo  gia, 

E  con  lubrico  pie  l'umida  via 
Scorreva  intento  a  l'amorosa  traccia : 

"  Qual  pro,"  dicendo,  "  ov  "  ha  piu  folta  e  piena 
L'alga,  fuggir  quel  Dio  ch'  ogni  procella 
Con  la  torta  sua  tromba  acqueta  e  frena? 


TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF   THE    SEA.  209 

Tra  queste  squamme,  a  la  scagliosa  ombrella 
Di  questa  coda,  in  questa  curva  schiena 
Vien  sovente  a  seder  la  Dea  piu  bella.' 

A  dreadful  face  in  the  Carpathian  sea 

After  a  sweet  one  like  a  deer  in  flight, 

Came  ploughing  up  a  trough  of  thunderous  might  — 
Triton's  —  in  chase  of  coy  Cymothoe. 
Rugged  and  fierce,  and  all  afroth,  came  he, 

Dashing  the  billowy  buffets  left  and  right ; 

And  on  his  slippery  orbs,  with  eyes  alight 
For  thirst,  stoop'd  headlong  tow'rds  the  lovely  she  ; 

Crying,  "  What  boots  it  to  look  out  for  aid 

In  weedy  thicks,  and  run  a  race  with  him 

To  whom  the  mastery  of  the  seas  is  given? 
On  this  rude  back,  under  the  scaly  shade 

Of  this  huge  tail,  midst  all  this  fishy  trim, 

Oft  comes  to  sit  the  loveliest  shape  in  heaven." 

According  to  Hesiod,  Triton  is  a  highly  "  respectable  " 
god,  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word,  for  he  lives  "  in 
a  golden  house."  To  be  sure,  he  does  that,  as  residing 
with  his  father  and  mother  ;  but,  moreover,  he  is  a  god 
redoubtable  on  his  own  account — deinos  —  a  god  of 
*'  awful  might,"  as  Mr.  Elton  excellently  renders  it ;  not 
"  eximius  "  merely,  or  egregious,  as  feeble  Natalis  Comes 
interpreteth  it ;  nor  simply  "  vehemens,"  as  the  common 
Latin  version  saith  better,  but  implying  the  combination 
of  force  and  terror. 

"  From  the  god  of  sounding  waves, 
Shaker  of  earth,  and  Amphitrite,  sprang 
Sea-potent  Triton  huge  ; 

(excellently  rendered,  that) 

Beneath  the  deep 
He  dwells  in  golden  edifice, 

(but  with  his  father  and  mother,  quoth  Hesiod), 
H 


2IO  TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA. 

A  god 
Of  awful  might.* 

Mr.  Elton  appends  a  curious  note  to  this  passage,  from 
the  learned  and  ingenious,  but  most  gratuitous,  "  Mythol- 
ogy "  of  Bryant ;  who,  out  of  a  mistaken  zeal  for  identify- 
ing every  thing  with  Scripture,  undoes  half  the  poetry  of 
old  fable  "  at  a  jerk,"  and  makes  stocks  and  stones  of 
the  gods  with  a  vengeance.  We  are  sorry  to  find  that  so 
poetical  a  translator  has  allowed  himself,  out  of  a  like 
respectable  error,  to  contract  his  larger  instincts  into  those 
of  a  dogmatist  so  prosaical.  According  to  Mr.  Bryant, 
Triton  is  no  better  than  an  old  brick  building  ;  and  Am- 
phitrite  herself  "  another." 

"  The  Hetrurians,"  says  he,  "  erected  on  their  shores 
towers  and  beacons  for  the  sake  of  their  navigation,  which 
they  called  Tor-ain ;  whence  they  had  a  still  farther  de- 
nomination of  Tor-aini  (Tyrrheni).  Another  name  for 
buildings  of  this  nature  was  Tirit,  or  Turit ;  which  signi- 
fied a  tower  or  turret.  The  name  of  Triton  is  a  contrac- 
tion of  Tirit-on,  and  signifies  the  tower  of  the  sun ;  but  a 
deity  was  framed  from  it,  who  was  supposed  to  have  had 
the  appearance  of  a  man  upwards,  but  downwards  to  have 
been  like  a  fish.  The  Hetrurians  are  thought  to  have 
been  the  inventors  of  trumpets  ;  and  in  their  towers  on  the 
sea-coast  there  were  people  appointed  to  be  continually  on 
the  watch,  both  by  day  and  by  night,  and  to  give  a  proper 
signal  if  any  thing  happened  extraordinary.  This  was 
done  by  a  blast  from  the  trumpet.  In  early  times,  how- 
ever, these  brazen  instruments  were  but  little  known  ;  and 
people  were  obliged  to  use  what  were  near  at  hand,  the 


*  Elton's  "  Hesiod,"  p.  194. 


TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA.  211 

conchs  of  the  sea  :  by  sounding  these  they  gave  signals 
from  the  tops  of  the  towers  when  any  ship  appeared ; 
and  this  is  the  implement  with  which  Triton  is  more 
commonly  furnished.  Amphi-tirit  is  merely  an  oracular 
tower,  which,  by  the  poets,  has  been  changed  into  Amphi- 
trite,  and  made  the  wife  of  Neptune." 

Don't  believe  a  word  of  it ;  or,  if  you  do,  admit  the  pos- 
sibility of  just  enough  to  enable  you  to  admire  how  the 
noble  imagination  of  the  Greeks  restored  their  rights  to 
the  largeness  and  loudness  of  Nature,  and  forced  this 
watchman's  tower  back  again  into  the  ocean  which  it  pre- 
tended to  compete  with.  What !  was  the  sea  itself  noth- 
ing ?  its  roaring  nothing  ?  its  magnitude,  and  mystery,  and 
eternal  motion  nothing,  that  out  of  all  this  a  Triton  and  a 
Neptune  could  not  be  framed,  without  the  help  of  these 
restorers  of  Babel  ? 

Bochart,  speaking  of  the  river  Triton  (and,  by  the  way, 
he  was  an  Eastern  scholar,  which  Bryant  was  not),  derives 
the  name  from  the  Phoenician  word  tarit.  Mr.  Bryant 
brings  his  Triton  from  tirit.  In  fact  you  may  bring  any 
thing  from  any  thing  by  the  help  of  etymology ;  as  Gold- 
smith has  shown  in  his  famous  derivation  of  Fohi  from 
Noah  ;  and  Home  Tooke,  in  his  no  less  learned  deduc- 
tion of  "  pickled  cucumber"  from  "  King  Jeremiah."  To 
pretend  to  come  to  any  certain  conclusion  in  etymology, 
is  to  defy  time,  place,  and  vicissitude. 

Allegorically,  Triton  is  the  noise,  and  tumbling,  and 
savageness  of  the  sea ;  and  therefore  may  well  be  repre- 
sented as  looking  more  brutal  than  human  ;  but  the  sav- 
ageness of  the  sea,  taking  it  in  the  gross,  and  not  the 
particular,  is  a  thing  genial  and  good-natured,  serving  the 
healthiest  purposes  of  the  world  ;  and  therefore  the  same 
Triton  may  be   represented  as  abounding  in  humanity, 


212  TRITONS   AND    MEN   OF    THE    SEA. 

and  appearing  in  a  nobler  shape.  Be  his  shape  what  it 
may,  Venus  (universal  love)  understands  his  nature  ;  and 
with  the  eye  of  a  goddess  sees  fair-play  between  him  and 
what  is  beauteous,  difference  being  only  a  form,  and  the 
elements  and  essences  of  things  being  the  same  through- 
out the  globe,  and  secretly  harmonizing  with  one  another. 

(There  is  a  fine  blowing  wind,  while  we  are  writing  this, 
with  a  deep  tone  in  its  cadences,  as  if  Triton  were  assent- 
ing to  what  we  wrote.)  Boccaccio,  in  identifying  him  with 
the  noise  of  the  sea,  finally  says,  that  he  signifies  that 
especial  sound  of  it  which  announces  a  more  than  ordinary 
swell  of  the  waters,  and  the  approach  of  his  lord  and 
master  in  his  vehemence,  "as  trumpeters  blow  their  song 
before  the  coming  of  an  emperor."  * 

But  allegories  are  secondary  affairs.  Triton  is  a  good 
fellow  on  his  own  account,  and  puts  a  merriment  and  vis- 
ible humanity  in  the  sea,  linking  us  also  with  things 
invisible.  On  this  latter  account,  a  living  poet,  in  a  fit  of 
tedium  with  the  commonplaces  of  the  "  work-a-day  world," 
and  their  habitual  disbelief  in  any  thing  beyond  themselves, 
has  expressed  a  wish  to  see  him.  But  surely,  being  the 
great  poet  he  is,  he  has  seen  him,  often  ;  and  need  not 
have  desponded  for  a  moment  over  the  commonplaces  of 
the  world,  more  than  over  any  other  parcel  of  atoms  play- 
ing their  parts  in  the  vicissitudes  and  progress  of  all  things. 
"  Great  God  !  "  he  exclaims  (and  beautiful  is  the  effusion) : 

"  I'd  rather  be 
A  pagan,  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn, 
So  might  I,  standing  on  this  pleasant  lea 


*  "  Genealogia  Deorum,"  151 1,  p.  55.  "  Voluere  ex  illo  sono  comprehendi 
fiiturum  maris  majorem  solito  aestum ;  ut  sono  illo  adventante  majori  cum 
impetu  dominum  suum  ostendat  Triton  ;  uti  et  tibicines  imperatorem  de  prox- 
imo advenire  designant  tibiarum  cantu." 


TRITONS   AND    MEN    OF   THE    SEA.  213 

Have  glimpses  that  would  make  me  less  forlorn ; 
Have  sight  of  Proteus  coming  from  the  sea, 
Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn." 

Wordsworth's  Sonnets. 

But  what  is  there  more  marvellous  in  Triton  than  in  the 
sea  itself  ?  and  what  glimpses  need  we  desire  to  reassure 
us,  greater  than  the  stars  above  our  heads,  and  the  won- 
ders in  a  man's  own  brain  and  bosom  ?  To  see  these,  if 
we  look  for  them,  in  a  healthy  spirit,  (for  the  gods,  after 
all,  or  rather  before  all,  love  health  and  energy,  and  insist 
upon  them),  is  to  see  "  the  shapes  of  gods,  ascending  and 
descending,"  and  to  know  them  for  what  they  are  —  no 
delusions,  nor  unbeneficent.  All  that  they  require  is,  that 
we  should  help  the  intellectual  and  moral  world  to  make 
progress  ;  and  as  our  poet  was  not  doing  this  at  the 
moment,  we  suppose  the  gods  suspended  his  gift,  and 
would  not  allow  him  to  see  them.  And  yet,  behold !  he 
did  so,  in  the  midst  of  his  very  disbelief !  so  unable  to  get 
rid  of  his  divinity  is  a  true  poet. 

"  In  playful  reverence,  not  presumptuous  scorn 
I  speak,  nor  with  my  own  rebuke,  but  Jove's, 
His  teacher  mid  the  stars." 

Our  old  friend  Sandys,  in  the  delightful  notes  to  his 
"  Ovid,"  quotes  an  Italian  author  to  show  that  a  Triton 
was  once  seen  and  felt,  as  you  might  handle  a  lobster. 
"  Pliny,"  says  he,  "  writes  how  an  ambassador  was  sent 
on  purpose  from  the  Olissiponensi  (the  Lisbon  people), 
unto  Tiberius  Caesar,  to  tell  him  of  a  Triton,  seene  and 
heard  in  a  certaine  cave,  winding  a  shell,  and  in  such  a 
form  as  they  are  commonly  painted.  But  I  cannot  omit 
what  is  written  by  Alexander  ab  Alexandro,  who  lived  in 
the  last  century,  how  he  heard  one  Draconet  Boniface  of 
Naples,  a  souldier  of  much  experience,  report  in  an  honour- 


214  TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA. 

able  assembly,  that  in  the  wars  of  Spaine  he  saw  a  sea- 
monster  with  the  face  and  body  like  a  man,  but  below  the 
belly  like  a  fish,  brought  thither  from  the  farthest  shores 
of  Mauritania.  It  had  an  old  countenance  ;  the  hairs  and 
beard  rough  and  shaggy ;  blew  of  colour ;  and  high  of 
stature ;  with  finnes  between  the  arms  and  the  body. 
These  were  held  for  gods  of  the  sea,  and  propitious  to 
sailors !  ignorance  producing  admiration,  and  admiration 
superstition.  However,  perhaps  they  erre  not,  who  con- 
ceived them  to  be  onely  Divells,  assuming  that  form,  to 
nourish  a  false  devotion."  * 

Mr.  Wordworth's  wish,  in  certain  "moods  of  the  mind," 
is  natural  and  touching  ;  but  we  believers  of  the  Muses' 
"  train "  are  startled,  when  a  great  poet,  even  for  a 
moment,  seems  to  lose  sight  of  those  final  wonders,  which 
it  is  poetry's  high  philosophic  privilege  to  be  forever 
aware  of.  The  deities  of  past  ages  are  alive  still,  as  much 
as  they  ought  to  be  ;  the  divinity  that  inspires  their  con- 
ception is  always  alive,  and  he  evinces  himself  in  a  thou- 
sand shapes  of  hope,  love,  and  imagination ;  ay,  and  of  the 
most  commonplace  materiality  too,  which,  to  beings  who 
beheld  us  from  afar,  would  be  quite  as  good  proof  of  the 
existence  of  things  beautiful  and  supernatural,  as  Galatea, 
with  all  her  nymphs,  would  be  to  one  of  us.  Let  the 
reader  fancy  a  world,  which  had  but  one-half  the  lovely 
things  in  it  which  ours  possesses,  or  but  imagination 
enough  to  conceive  them,  and  then  let  him  fancy  what  it 
would  think  of  us,  and  of  our  right  to  hope  for  other  things 
supernatural,  and  to  be  full  of  a  noble  security  against  all 
nullification. 


*  Sandys'  "Ovid,"  fol.,  p.  19. 


TRITONS   AND   MEN   OF   THE    SEA.  215 

But  to  return  from  these  speculations,  fit  as  they  are  for 
the  remoteness  and  universality  of  the  seas.  We  have 
nothing  to  do  here  with  Nereus,  Proteus,  and  other 
watery  deities,  whose  form,  though  they  could  change  it, 
was  entirely  human ;  neither  have  we  any  concern  with 
deities  in  general,  however  mixed  up  with  animal  natures, 
unless,  like  the  Triton,  they  have  survived  to  modern 
fable,  and  thus  remain  tangible.  Tritons  have  been  seen 
in  plenty  in  latter  times.  Ariosto  found  them  on  the  shores 
of  romance  :  they  figure  in  the  piscatory  dialogues  of  his 
countrymen ;  and  our  own  later  poets  have  beheld  them 
by  dozens,  whenever  they  went  to  the  sea-coast,  just  as 
other  men  see  fishermen  and  boats.  In  the  pretty  drama 
entitled  "  Alceo,"  written  by  a  promising  young  poet  of 
the  name  of  Ongaro,  who  died  early,  and  which  the 
Italians  call  the  Aminta  bagnato  (Amyntas  in  the  water), 
a  Triton  performs  the  part  of  the  Satyr  in  Tasso. 

Our  great  poet  of  romance  makes  express  mention  of  a 
Sea-Satyr.  It  is  in  that  "  perilous  passage  "  of  the  last 
canto  of  Book  the  Second,  in  the  perusal  of  which  our 
imagination  becomes  as  earnest  and  childlike  as  the  poet's 
own  look  of  belief.  We  should  lay  the  whole  of  it  before 
our  readers,  had  we  quoted  it  twenty  times  ;  in  the  first 
place,  because  it  contains  a  list  of  sea-monsters,  and  there- 
fore falls  in  with  our  subject ;  and  secondly,  because  we 
cannot  help  it.  Sir  Guyon,  with  his  friend  the  Palmer, 
has  just  passed  a  dreadful  whirlpool :  — 


'  The  heedful  boteman  strongly  forth  did  stretch 
His  brawnie  armes,  and  all  his  bodie  straine, 
That  th'  utmost  sandy  breach  they  shortly  fetch, 
Whiles  the  dredd  daunger  does  behind  remaine. 
Suddeine  they  see,  from  midst  of  all  the  maine, 
The  surging  waters  like  a  mountaine  rise, 


2l6  TRITONS   AND    MEN   OF   THE    SEA. 

And  the  great  sea,  puft  up  with  proud  disdaine, 
To  swell  above  the  measure  of  his  guise, 
As  threatning  to  devoure  all  that  his  powre  despise. 

"  The  waves  came  rolling,  and  the  billows  rore 
Outragiously,  as  they  enraged  were, 
Or  wrathfull  Neptune  did  them  drive  before 
His  whirling  charet  for  exceeding  feare  ; 
For  not  one  puffe  of  winde  titer e  did  appeare  ; 
That  all  the  three  thereat  were  much  afrayd, 
Unweeting  what  such  horrour  straunge  did  reare. 
Eftsoones  they  saw  an  hideous  hoast  arrayd 
Of  huge  sea-monsters,  such  as  living  sence  dismayed : 

"  Most  ugly  shapes  and  horrible  aspects, 

Such  as  dame  Nature's  self  mote  feare  to  see, 
Or  shame,  that  ever  should  so  fowle  defects 
From  her  most  cunning  hand  escaped  bee : 
A 11  dreadfull pourtraicts  of  deformitee  ; 
Spring-headed  hydres,  and  sea-shouldering  whales, 

Great  whirlpooles,  which  all  fishes  make  to  flee, 
Bright  scolopendraes,  arm'd  with  silver  scales, 
Mighty  monoceros  with  immeasured  tayles : 

"  The  dreadful  fish,  that  hath  deserv'd  the  name 

Of  Death,  and  like  him  lookes  in  dreadfull  hew ; 

The  griesty  wasserman,  that  makes  his  game 

The  flying  ships  with  swiftness  to  pursew ; 

The  horrible  Sea-Satyre,  that  doth  shew 

His  fearef till  face  in  time  of  greatest  storme  ; 

Huge  ziffiius,  whom  mariners  eschew 

No  lesse  than  rockes,  as  travellers  informe ; 

And  greedy  rosmarines,  with  visages  deforme : 

"  All  these,  and  thousand  thousands  many  more, 

And  more  deformed  monsters,  thousand  fold, 

With  dreadfull  noise,  and  hollow  rombling  rore, 

Came  rushing,  in  thefomy  waves  enrolPd, 

Which  seem'd  to  fly,  for  feare  them  to  behold  ; 

Ne  wonder,  if  these  did  the  knight  appall ; 

For  all  that  here  on  earth  we  dreedfull  hold, 
Be  but  as  bugs  to  fearen  babes  withall, 
Compared  to  the  creetures  in  the  seas  entrill." 


TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA.  21 7 

There  is  little  doubt  that  Spenser  got  some  of  these 
monsters  out  of  the  natural  history  of  Gesner,  the  Buffon 
of  his  time,  and  that  in  a  plate  of  one  of  his  old  folio  vol- 
umes (now  before  us)  is  to  be  seen  the  identical  "  fearful 
face  "  shown  by  the  poet's  "  horrible  sea-satyr  "  in  "  time 
of  greatest  storme,"  the  one  consequently  which  the  poet 
himself  saw.  It  is  a  pity  we  cannot  give  it  here.  The 
commentators  should  add  it  to  their  notes  in  the  next 
edition.*  With  most  of  Spenser's  sea-monsters  we  have 
nothing  further  to  do  in  this  article  ;  but  the  "  sea-satyr  " 
is  directly  to  our  purpose  ;  and  so  is  the  "  griesly  wasser- 
man,"  i.  e.  waterman,  or  man  of  the  sea  ;  a  very  different 
personage  from  your  "  waterman  above  bridge." 

Gesner's  "  sea-satyr,"  or  "  pan,"  is  taken  from  an  ac- 
count given  by  Battista  Fulgoso,  who  says  that,  in  the 
time  of  Pope  Eugenius  the  Fourth,  it  was  taken  on  the 
coast  of  Illyria,  while  endeavoring  to  drag  a  boy  away 
with  it  to  its  native  element.  It  had  a  humanish  kind  of 
head  and  body,  with  a  skin  like  an  eel's,  two  horns  on  its 
forehead,  a  finger  and  thumb  only  on  each  hand,  a  couple 
of  webbed  feet,  a  great  fish's  tail,  and  wings  like  a  bat ! 
Such,  at  least,  is  the  figure  to  be  collected  from  the 
description  and  plate  together. 

Gesner  has  two  whole  chapters  upon  Wassermen;  that 
is,  Tritons  and  Men  of  the  Sea;  for,  "the  Germans  call 
all  such  creatures  wassermen,  or  seemen.1'  Of  these 
watermen  and  seamen,  one  of  whom  an  accommodating 
figure  is  given,  agreeable  to  his  designation  (with  a  caution 


•  "  Conradi  Gesneri  Historia  Animalium,"  p.  1197.  Gesner  was  evidently 
Milton's  as  well  as  Spenser's  authority  for  his  animals.  In  one  of  his  plates 
(p.  138)  is  the  whale  mistaken  for  an  island,  which  the  former  speaks  of, 

'  With  fixed  anchor  in  his  scaly  rind." 


2l8  TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA. 

on  the  part  of  the  writer  against  having  too  much  faith  in 
him),  is  called  the  Monk.  The  account  of  it  is  taken  from 
the  work  on  fishes  by  Rondelet ;  who  says  that  the  picture 
was  sent  him  by  Margaret,  Queen  of  Navarre.  The  head 
is  quite  human,  and  has  the  clerical  tonsure  !  The  rest  is 
a  compromise  between  fish-scales  and  church  vestments. 
This  reverend  fish  was  taken  in  a  drag  of  herrings,  and 
lived  only  three  days,  during  which  it  said  nothing,  "with 
the  exception  of  uttering  certain  sighs,  indicative  of  great 
sorrow  and  distress."  * 

Another  writer,  quoted  in  the  same  place,  says  that  the 
sea-monk  is  sometimes  visible  in  the  British  Channel. 
"  He  has  a  white  skin  on  his  cranium,  with  a  black  circle 
round  it,  like  a  monk  newly  shaven.  He  fawns  upon 
people  at  sea,  and  entices  them  into  the  water,  where  he 
satiates  himself  with  their  flesh."  This  species,  we  sup- 
pose, became  extinct  at  the  abolition  of  the  monasteries. 

But  the  monk  has  also  a  Bishop,  of  whom  a  figure  is 
likewise  given,  very  episcopal,  and  as  if  in  the  act  of  giving 
a  charge  to  his  clergy.  He  has  a  scaly  mitre,  a  cloak,  and 
an  aquiline  nose.  If  the  metempsychosis  were  believed 
in,  it  would  be  difficult  not  to  suppose  him  an  actual 
bishop,  who  had  been  turned  into  a  fish  for  eating  too 
much  turbot.  It  was  caught  in  1531,  and  sent  to  the  King 
of  Poland,  to  whom  it  made  signs,  "  apparently  indicative 
of  a  vehement  desire  of  being  returned  to  the  ocean,  into 
which,  without  further  delay,  it  was  accordingly  thrown." 
"  I  omit  other  particulars,"  says  Rondelet,  "  because  I 
hold  them  to  be  feigned,  for  such  is  the  vanity  of  man- 
kind that,  not  content  with  truths  sufficiently  marvellous 
in  themselves,  they  are  for  adding  wonders  to  them  of 

*  Gesner,  p.  521. 


TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA.  219 

their  own  invention.  As  to  the  likeness  of  the  monster,  I 
give  it  as  I  received  it,  neither  affirming  nor  denying  the 
truth  thereof." 

In  Bochart's  "  Hierozoicon "  is  a  very  curious  and 
learned  chapter  on  fabulous  animals,  in  which  he  gives 
us  a  variety  of  those  of  the  sea  from  Arabian  authors. 
They  remind  us  of  Eastern  tales,  and  of  Sindbad.  Not 
that  Sindbad's  Old  Man  of  the  Sea  (that  admirable  fiction, 
full  of  verisimilitude)  has  any  thing  of  the  sea  in  him  but 
his  name,  and  his  living  on  the  sea-shore ;  but  the  won- 
ders are  of  the  same  wild  and  remote  cast,  linking  the 
extremity  of  the  marvellous  with  a  look  of  nature  and  an 
appeal  to  our  sympathies. 

The  first  is  named  Abu-Muzaina,  that  is,  says  Bochart, 
"  Pater  decora  (the  Father  of  the  seemly)."  Gentlemen  of 
this  species  have  the  form  of  the  sons  of  Eve,  with  glu- 
tinous skins,  and  are  very  well  made.  They  weep  and  wail 
when  they  fall  into  human  hands.  They  come  out  of  the 
sea  to  walk  about,  and  are  then  taken  by  hunters,  who  are 
so  touched  by  their  weeping  as  to  dismiss  them  unhurt.* 

The  next  is  the  Old  yew,  who  has  a  face  like  a  man,  a 
gray  beard,  a  body  like  a  frog's,  hair  like  an  ox,  and  is  of 
the  size  of  a  calf.  He  comes  out  of  the  sea  on  Sabbath 
nights,  and  walks  about  till  next  evening,  when  he  leaps 
frog-like  into  the  sea. 

Then  comes  a  proper  "  Wasserman  "  by  name,  the 
Homo  Aquaticus,  or  Man  of  the  Water ;  called  likewise 
Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  from  his  gray  beard.  He  is  just 
like  a  man,  only  he  has  a  tail.  His  appearance  presages 
great  lowness  in  the  price  of  crops.  A  king  of  Damascus 
married  one  of  them  to  a  female  of  the  country,  in  order 

*  Bochart,  "Opera  Omnia,"  fol.,  vol.  ii.,  part  2,  p.  858. 


220  TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA. 

that  he  might  learn  what  language  he  spoke  from  their 
offspring  !  The  result  was  a  son,  and  one  remark  on  the 
part  of  the  old  gentleman,  expressing  an  unaccountable 
amazement. 

Lastly  cometh  one  Duhlak  (the  name  is  not  interpreted), 
who  haunts  islands,  riding  upon  an  ostrich,  and  eating 
people  that  are  shipwrecked.  Some  say  that  he  will  board 
ships,  have  a  fight  with  the  crew,  and  cry  aloud  "  with  a 
voice  of  boasting."  Bochart  is  of  opinion  that  this  "voice 
of  boasting"  should  rather  be  translated  "glad  and  agree- 
able voice ; "  for,  says  he,  the  sirens  are  the  creatures 
intended,  who  had  maidens'  faces,  were  birds  in  the  lower 
parts  of  their  bodies,  and  eat  human  flesh.  But  for  a 
reason  to  be  noticed  presently,  this  decision  appears  to  be 
a  mistake. 

"  In  these  Arabian  stories,"  says  our  good  old  author, 
"  there  may  be  some  truth  ;  for  it  has  been  proved  that 
there  are  creatures  in  the  sea  possessing,  or  nearly  pos- 
sessing, the  human  form.  You  may  read  of  some  that 
have  endeavored  to  get  into  ships  by  the  cables,  of  others 
who  come  upon  land  to  walk  about,  and  who  strike  fire  in 
the  night-time  with  flints,  and  of  others  who  behave  very 
ill  to  women,  unless  you  are  quick  to  prevent  them.  Some 
have  been  taken  and  lived  a  long  time  in  human  society  ; 
among  others  a  female  one  in  Pomerania,  of  the  name  of 
Eda,  very  lively  and  amorous.  And  Gassendi,  in  his  life 
of  Peiresc,  describes  one  that  had  been  seen  not  long  be- 
fore, on  the  coast  of  Brittany.  Ancient  as  well  as  modern 
history  bears  witness  that  such  creatures  have  been  found 
on  the  surface  as  well  as  in  the  depth  of  the  ocean.  Hence 
the  origin  of  Tritons  and  Nereids.  /  regard,  however, 
as  plainly  fabulous  what  is  said  of  their  being  gifted  with 
speech,  and  the  Arabian  stories  of  a  species  which  keep 


TRITONS   AND    MEN   OF   THE    SEA.  221 

the  Sabbath  j  though  a  writer  of  a  former  age,  Lodovicus 
Vives,  who  was  not  at  all  given  to  trifling,  confidently  asserts 
that  they  have  spoken,  and  thence  concludes  that  the  sea 
contains  a  generation  of  real  men.  '  There  are  men,'  says 
he,  'in  the  sea  as  there  are  on  the  land  —  Pliny  tells  us 
so;  entire  men  —  and  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  One  was 
taken  twelve  years  ago  in  Holland,  and  seen  by  many.  He 
was  kept  above  two  years,  and  was  just  beginning  to  speak, 
when  being  seized  a  second  time  with  the  plague,  he  was 
restored  to  his  native  element,  into  which  he  went  leaping 
and  rejoicing?  But  we  are  to  conclude  that  this  marine 
species  of  man  originated  with  the  land  species."  * 

In  the  "Persian  Tales,"  a  genuine  oriental  production, 
is  a  story  of  a  manifest  species  of  Duhlak,  or  ship-invading 
and  boasting  man  of  the  sea,  which  corroborates  what 
appeared  to  Bochart  a  misinterpretation  of  the  "  voice  " 
above  mentioned.  It  is  drawn  in  apparent  emulation  of 
Sindbad's  old  man,  to  which  it  is  very  inferior,  especially 
in  the  conclusion ;  yet  the  dramatic  surprise  of  his  be- 
havior after  he  gets  on  board  the  vessel  is  startling ;  and 
though  his  boasting  is  overdone  and  made  of  too  "  know- 
ing" and  human  a  cast,  yet  when  we  see  that  this  attribute 
of  bullying  was  part  of  the  popular  faith  in  such  beings,  the 
narrative  acquires  additional  interest,  and  has  a  diminished 
look  of  impossibility.  His  impatient  stamping,  the  im- 
penetrability of  his  skin,  and  his  sticking  his  claws  into 
the  vessel  when  they  tried  to  throw  him  overboard,  are 
also  striking  circumstances.  His  face  is  described  a  good 
deal  after  the  fashion  of  the  ancient  Triton.  We  shall 
commence  the  narrative  with  a  few  of  those  introductory 
details,  d  la  Defoe,  which  give  such  a  look  of  nature  to 

*  Bochart,  "Opera  Omnia,"  fol.,  vol.  ii.,  part  2,  p.  860. 


222  TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA. 

these  "monstrous  lies."  The  person  speaking  is  "  Aboul- 
fauris,  the  Great  Voyager,"  whose  name  one  repeats  with 
involuntary  respect  for  his  great  beard  and  truly  pro- 
digious experience. 

"  Having  sailed,"  says  this  illustrious  personage,  "  al- 
most round  the  Isle  of  Serendib,  we  entered  the  Gulf  of 
Bengal,  which  is  the  greatest  gulf  in  Asia,  at  the  lower 
end  of  which  are  the  kingdoms  of  Bengal  and  Golconda. 
Just  as  we  entered  it  there  rose  a  violent  storm  of  wind, 
the  like  of  which  had  never  been  seen  in  those  seas.  We 
wanted  a  south  wind,  and  this  was  a  north-west,  quite 
contrary  to  our  course  for  Golconda.  We  lowered  our 
sails,  and  the  seamen  did  all  they  could  to  save  the  ship, 
which  they  were  at  last  forced  to  let  drive  at  the  mercy  of 
the  wind  and  waves.  The  storm  lasted  fifteen  days,  and 
blew  so  furiously  that  we  were  in  that  time  driven  six 
hundred  leagues  out  of  our  way.  We  left  the  long  isles 
of  Sumatra  and  Java  to  our  larboard,  and  the  ship  drove 
to  the  strait  of  the  Moluccas,  south  of  the  Philippines, 
into  a  sea  unknown  to  our  mariners.  The  wind  changed 
at  last  and  turned  to  an  easterly  wind  ;  it  blew  pretty 
gently,  and  great  was  the  joy  of  the  ship's  company.  But 
their  joy  did  not  last  long ;  'twas  disturbed  by  an  adventure 
which  you  will  hardly  believe,  it  being  so  very  extraor- 
dinary. We  were  beginning  merrily  to  resume  our  course, 
and  were  got  to  the  east  point  of  the  island  of  Java,  when, 
not  far  off,  we  spied  a  man  quite  naked,  struggling  with 
the  waves,  and  in  danger  of  being  swallowed  up  ;  he  held 
fast  by  a  plank  that  kept  him  up,  and  made  a  signal  to  us 
to  come  to  his  assistance.  We  sent  our  boat  to  him  out 
of  compassion,  and  found,  by  experience,  that  if  pity  be  a 
laudable  passion  it  must  be  owned  that  it  is  also  some- 
times very  dangerous.    .The  seamen  took  up  the  man  and 


TRITONS    AND    MEN    OB'    THE    SEA.  223 

brought  him  aboard ;  he  looked  to  be  about  forty  years 
old,  was  of  a  monstrous  shape,  had  a  great  head,  and 
short,  thick,  bristly  hair.  His  mouth  was  excessively 
wide,  his  teeth  long  and  sharp,  his  arms  nervous,  his 
hands  large,  with  a  long  crooked  nail  on  each  finger.  His 
eyes,  which  are  not  to  be  forgotten,  were  like  those  of  a 
tiger ;  his  nose  was  flat,  and  his  nostrils  wide.  We  did 
not  at  all  like  his  physiognomy,  and  his  mien  was  such 
that  it  soon  changed  our  pity  into  terror. 

"  When  this  man,  such  as  I  have  described  him,  appeared 
before  Dehaousch,  our  master,  he  thus  addressed  him : 
'  My  Lord,  I  owe  my  life  to  you,  I  was  at  the  point  of  de- 
struction when  you  came  to  my  assistance.'  —  'Indeed,' 
replied  Dehaousch,  '  it  would  not  have  been  long  ere  you 
had  gone  to  the  bottom,  had  you  not  had  the  good  fortune 
to  have  met  with  us.'  — '  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  sea,'  re- 
plied the  man,  smiling ;  '  I  could  have  lived  whole  years 
in  the  water  without  any  inconvenience  ;  what  tormented 
me  much  more  is  hunger,  which  has  devoured  me  these 
twelve  hours,  for  so  long  it  is  since  I  ate  any  thing,  and 
that  is  a  very  long  while  for  a  man  who  has  so  good  a 
stomach  as  I  have.  Therefore,  pray  let  me  have  some- 
thing as  soon  as  possible  to  repair  my  spirits  almost  spent 
with  such  a  fasting,  as  I  have  been  forced  to  keep.  You 
need  not  look  for  niceties  ;  I  am  not  squeamish ;  I  can 
eat  any  thing.' 

"  We  looked  at  one  another  very  much  surprised  at  his 
discourse,  and  doubted  not  that  the  peril  he  had  been  in 
had  cracked  his  brain.  Our  master  was  of  the  same 
mind,  and  imagining  he  might  want  something  to  eat,  he 
ordered  meat  enough  for  six  hungry  stomachs  to  be  set 
before  him,  and  clothes  to  be  brought  him  for  his  covering. 
4  As  for  the  clothes,'  says  the  stranger,  '  I  shall  not  meddle 


224  TRITONS   AND   MEN   OF   THE    SEA. 

with  them ;  I  always  go  naked.'  — '  But,'  replied  Deha- 
ousch,  '  decency  will  not  permit  that  you  should  stay  with 
us  in  that  condition.'  The  man  took  him  up  short  — 
'Oh!'  says  he,  'you  will  have  time  enough  to  accustom 
yourself  to  it.'  This  brutal  answer  confirmed  us  in  the 
opinion  that  he  had  lost  his  senses.  Being  sharp-set,  he 
was  very  impatient  that  he  was  not  served  to  his  mind. 
He  stamped  with  his  foot  upon  the  deck,  ground  his  teeth, 
and  rolled  his  eyes  so  ghastly  that  he  looked  both  furious 
and  menacing.  At  last  what  he  wanted  appeared  ;  he  fell 
upon  it  with  a  greediness  that  surprised  us,  and  though 
there  was  certainly  sufficient  for  any  other  six  men,  he 
despatched  it  in  a  moment. 

"  When  we  had  cleared  the  table  which  had  been  spread 
for  him,  he,  with  an  air  of  authority,  bade  us  bring  him 
some  more  victuals.  Dehaousch,  being  resolved  to  try 
how  much  this  devouring  monster  could  really  swallow, 
ordered  he  should  be  obeyed.  The  table  was  spread 
as  before,  and  as  much  victuals  again  set  before  him  ;  but 
this  second  service  lasted  him  no  longer  than  the  first  — 
it  was  gone  in  a  moment.  We  thought,  however,  he  would 
stop  there,  but  we  were  mistaken,  he  demanded  more  meat 
still ;  upon  which  one  of  the  slaves  aboard  the  ship,  going 
up  to  this  brute,  was  about  to  chastise,  him  for  his  inso- 
lence, which  the  other  observing  prevented,  laying  his 
two  paws  upon  his  shoulders,  fixing  his  nails  in  his  flesh 
and  tearing  him  to  pieces.  In  an  instant  fifty  sabres  were 
drawn  to  revenge  this  dreadful  murder  ;  every  one  pressed 
forward  to  strike  him  and  chastise  his  insolence,  but  they 
very  soon  found  to  their  terror  that  the  skin  of  their 
enemy  was  as  impenetrable  as  adamant ;  their  sabres 
broke,  and  their  edges  turned  without  so  much  as  raising 
the  skin.     Though  he  received  no  hurt  by  theii  blows, 


TRITONS   AND    MEN   OF   THE    SEA.  225 

they  did  not  strike  him  with  impunity  ;  he  took  one  of  the 
most  forward  of  his  assailants,  and  with  amazing  strength 
tore  him  to  pieces  before  our  eyes.  ^ 

"  When  we  found  our  sabres  were  useless,  and  that  we 
could  not  wound  him,  we  threw  ourselves  upon  him  to 
endeavor  to  fling  him  into  the  sea,  but  we  could  not  stir 
him.  Besides  his  huge  limbs  and  prodigious  nerve,  he 
stuck  his  crooked  nails  in  the  timber  of  the  deck,  and 
stood  as  immovable  as  a  rock  in  the  midst  of  the  waves. 
He  was  so  far  from  being  afraid  of  us  that  he  said  with  a 
sullen  smile,  '  You  have  taken  the  wrong  course,  friends, 
you  will  fare  much  better  by  obeying  me  ;  I  have  tamed 
more  indocile  people  than  you.  I  declare  if  you  continue 
to  oppose  my  will,  I  will  serve  you  all  as  your  two  com- 
panions have  been  served.' 

"  These  words  made  our  blood  freeze  in  our  veins.  We 
a  third  time  set  a  large  quantity  of  provisions  before  him, 
he  fell  aboard  it,  and  one  would  have  thought  by  his  eating 
that  his  stomach  rather  increased  than  diminished.  When 
he  saw  we  were  determined  to  submit  he  grew  good- 
humored.  He  said  he  was  sorry  we  had  forced  him  to  do 
what  he  did,  and  kindly  assured  us  he  loved  us  on  account 
of  the  service  we  had  done  him  in  taking  him  out  of 
the  sea,  where  he  should  have  been  starved  if  he  had 
stayed  there  a  few  hours  longer  without  succor ;  that  he 
wished,  for  our  sakes,  he  could  meet  with  some  other  ves- 
sel laden  with  good  provisions,  because  he  would  throw 
himself  aboard  it  and  leave  us  in  quiet.  He  talked  thus 
while  he  was  eating,  and  laughed  and  bantered  like  other 
men,  and  we  should  have  thought  him  diverting  enough 
had  we  been  in  a  disposition  to  relish  his  pleasantry.  At 
the  fourth  service  he  gave  over,  and  was  two  hours  with- 
out eating  any  thing  at  all.    During  this  excess  of  sobriety 

15 


226  TRITONS   AND    MEN   OF   THE    SEA. 

he  was  very  familiar  in  his  discourse  ;  he  asked  us  one 
after  another  what  country  we  were  of,  what  were  our 
customs,  and  what  had  been  our  adventures.  We  were 
in  hopes  that  the  fumes  of  his  victuals  he  had  eaten 
would  have  got  up  in  his  head  and  made  him  drowsy ; 
we  impatiently  expected  that  sleep  would  seize  him, 
and  were  resolved  to  take  him  napping,  and  fling  him 
into  the  sea  before  he  had  time  to  look  about  him. 
This  hope  of  ours  was  our  only  resource,  for  though  we 
had  great  store  of  provisions  aboard,  yet,  after  his  rate 
of  eating,  he  would  have  devoured  them  all  in  a  very 
little  while.  But,  alas  !  in  vain  did  we  flatter  ourselves 
with  these  false  hopes.  The  cruel  wretch,  guessing  our 
design,  told  us  he  never  slept ;  that  the  great  quantity 
of  victuals  he  ate  repaired  the  wearisomeness  of  nature, 
and  supplied  the  want  of  sleep. 

"  To  our  grief  we  found  what  he  said  was  true  ;  we  told 
him  long  and  tedious  stories  on  purpose  to  lull  him  asleep, 
but  the  monster  never  shut  his  eyes.  He  then  deplored 
our  misfortune,  and  our  master  despaired  of  ever  seeing 
Golconda  again  ;  when  on  a  sudden  a  cloud  gathered  over 
our  heads.  We  thought  at  first  it  was  a  storm  which  was 
gathering,  and  we  rejoiced  at  it ;  for  there  was  more  hope 
of  our  safety  in  a  tempest  than  in  the  state  we  were  in. 
Our  ship  might  be  driven  ashore  on  some  island ;  we 
might  save  ourselves  by  swimming ;  and  by  this  means  be 
delivered  from  this  monster,  who  doubtless  intended  to 
devour  us  when  he  had  eaten  up  all  our  provisions.  We 
wished,  therefore,  that  a  violent  storm  would  overtake  us  ; 
and,  what  perhaps  never  happened  before,  we  prayed  to 
heaven  to  be  drowned.  However,  we  were  deceived ; 
what  we  took  for  a  cloud  was  the  greatest  rokh  that  was 
ever  seen  in  those  seas.     The  monstrous  bird  darted  him- 


TRITONS   AND    MEN    OF   THE    SEA.  227 

self  on  our  enemy,  who  was  in  the  middle  of  our  ship's 
company ;  and  mistrusting  nothing,  had  no  time  to  guard 
himself  against  such  an  attack :  the  rokh  seized  him  by 
his  claws,  and  flew  up  into  the  air  with  his  prey,  before 
we  were  aware  of  it. 

"  We  then  were  witnesses  of  a  very  extraordinary  com- 
bat. The  man  recollecting  himself,  and  finding  he  was 
hoisted  up  in  the  air  between  the  talons  of  a  winged 
monster,  whose  strength  he  made  trial  of,  resolved  to  de- 
fend himself.  He  struck  his  crooked  nails  into  the  body 
of  the  rokh,  and  setting  his  teeth  to  his  stomach,  began  to 
devour  him,  flesh,  feathers,  and  all.  The  bird  made  the 
air  resound  with  his  cries,  so  piercing  was  his  pain  ;  and 
to  be  revenged  tore  out  his  enemy's  eyes  with  his  claws. 
The  man,  blind  as  he  was,  did  not  give  over.  He  ate  the 
heart  of  the  rokh,  who,  re-collecting  all  his  force  at  the 
last  gasp,  struck  his  beak  so  forcibly  into  his  enemy's 
head,  that  they  both  fell  dead  into  the  sea,  not  many  paces 
from  our  ship's  side."  * 

In  the  "Arabian  Nights  "  is  an  account  of  a  nation  who 
live  under  the  sea,  but  they  differ  in  nothing  from  men, 
except  in  their  power  of  so  doing,  and  coming  to  and  fro 
with  dry  clothes,  "as  if  nothing  had  happened;  "  all  of 
which  is  not  in  the  usual  fine  taste  of  that  work.f 

Of  men  of  the  sea,  in  their  connection  with  the  more 
shadowy  nation  of  the  Fairies,  we  have  treated  elsewhere, 
in  a  separate  article  on  that  people,  and  therefore  say  no- 
thing of  them  here  ;  and  what  we  might  have  had  to  say 
on  Mermen  has  been  anticipated,  as  far  as  the  genus  is 


*  "Persian  Tales;  or,  the  Thousand  and  One  Days."    Ed.  1800,  vol.  ii., 
P-  133- 

t  See  the  story  of  Prince  Beder  and  the  Princess  Giauhara. 


228  TRITONS   AND   MEN    OF   THE    SEA. 

concerned,  in  the  paper  on  "  Sirens  and  Mermaids  ;  "  but 
as  we  extracted  into  that  paper  Mr.  Tennyson's  poem  on 
the  female  of  this  genus,  we  cannot  but  indulge  ourselves 
here  with  giving  his  companion-piece. 

THE  MERMAN. 

Who  would  be 
A  merman  bold, 
Sitting  alone, 
Singing  alone, 
Under  the  sea, 
With  a  crown  of  gold, 
On  a  throne  ? 
/  would  be  a  merman  bold. 
I  would  sit  and  sing  the  whole  of  the  day. 

/  would  fill  the  sea-halls  with  a  voice  of  power  ; 
But  at  night  I  would  roam  abroad  and  play 
With  the  mermaids  in  and  out  of  the  rocks, 

Dressing  their  hair  with  the  white  sea-flower  ; 
A  nd,  holding  them  back  by  their  flowing  locks, 
I  would  kiss  them  often  under  the  sea, 
A  nd  kiss  them  again,  till  they  kiss'd  me. 
Laughingly,  laughingly. 
And  then  we  would  wander  away,  away, 
To  the  pale-green  sea-groves,  straight  and  high, 
Chasing  each  other  merrily. 

There  would  be  neither  moon  nor  star  ; 

But  the  wave  would  make  music  above  us  afar  — 

Low  thunder  and  light  in  the  magic  night  — 

Neither  moon  nor  star. 
We  would  call  aloud  in  the  dreamy  dells,  — 
Call  to  each  other,  and  whoop  and  cry 

All  night  merrily,  merrily. 
They  would  pelt  me  with  starry  spangles  and  shells, 
Laughing  and  clapping  their  hands  between, 

All  night  merrily,  merrily. 
But  I  would  throw  to  them  back  in  mine 
Turkis,  and  agate,  and  almondine  ; 
Then  leaping  out  upon  them  unseen, 


TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA.  22Q 

/  would  kiss  them  often  under  the  sea, 
A  nd  kiss  them  again,  till  they  kiss'd  me, 

Laughingly,  laughingly. 
Oh  !  what  a  happy  jife  were  mine, 
Under  the  hollow-hung  ocean  green  I 
Soft  are  the  moss-beds  under  the  sea : 
We  would  live  merrily,  merrily. 

The  most  charming  story  connected  with  beings  of  the 
sea  is  that  of  Acis  and  Galatea  ;  the  most  wildly  touching, 
that  of  the  Neck,  or  Scandinavian  Water-spirit,  who  wept 
when  he  was  told  he  would  not  be  "  saved  "  (related  in  the 
fairy  article  above  mentioned) ;  the  sublimest  is  the  fa- 
mous one  of  the  voice  which  announced  the  death  of  the 
"Great  Pan."  Plutarch  relates  it,  in  his  essay  on  the 
"  Cessation  of  Oracles,"  upon  the  authority  of  one  Philip- 
pus,  who  said  he  had  it  from  the  hearer's  own  son,  and  who 
was  corroborated  in  his  report  by  several  persons  present. 
The  original  narrator  alluded  to  gave  the  account  as  fol- 
lows.* He  said,  "that,  during  a  voyage  to  Italy,  the 
wind  fell  in  the  night-time,  as  they  were  nearing  the  Echi- 
nades  ;  and  that,  while  almost  all  the  people  on  board 
were  on  the  watch,  a  great  voice  was  heard  from  the 
Island  of  Paxos,  calling  upon  one  of  them  of  the  name  of 
Thamnus ;  which  voice,  for  the  novelty  of  the  thing, 
excited  them  all  to  great  astonishment."  This  Thamnus 
was  an  Egyptian,  and  master  of  the  vessel.  He  was  twice 
called  and  gave  no  answer.  He  was  called  a  third  time, 
and  then  he  acknowledged  the  call ;  upon  which  the  voice, 
with  much  greater  loudness  than  before,  cried  out,  "  When 
you  come  to  the  Marsh,  announce  that  the  Great  Pan  is 
dead,"  a  command  which  struck  all  the  listeners  with 
terror. 

*  We  quote  from  Gesner,  as  above,  p.  1198. 


23O  TRITONS    AND    MEN    OF    THE    SEA. 

Accordingly,  when  they  arrived  off  the  Marsh,  Thamnus, 
looking  out  from  his  rudder  towards  the  land,  cried,  with 
a  loud  voice,  "  The  Great  Pan  is  dead ;  "  upon  which  there 
was  suddenly  heard  a  mighty  groaning,  as  of  many  voices  — 
"  yea,  of  voices  innumerable,  all  wonderfully  mixed  up 
together."  And  because  there  were  many  people  in  that 
ship,  as  soon  as  they  came  to  Rome  the  rumor  was  spread 
through  the  whole  city,  and  the  Emperor  Tiberius  sent  for 
Thamnus,  and  was  so  struck  with  his  relation,  that  he 
applied  to  the  philosophers  to  know  what  Pan  it  could  be  ; 
and  the  conjecture  was  that  it  must  be  the  Pan  who  was 
the  son  of  Mercury  and  Penelope. 

The  announcement  of  the  death  of  Pan  was  awkward  ; 
for  Pan  signifies  all,  and  was  the  most  universal  of  the 
gods  ;  but  luckily,  by  the  help  of  the  Platonists  and  others, 
every  god  was  surrounded  with  minor  intelligences  of  the 
same  name,  after  the  fashion  of  a  Scottish  clan  ;  so  that 
the  philosophers  found  a  god  convenient  for  the  occasion 
in  this  particular  Pan,  the  offspring  of  Mercury  and  Pen- 
elope. It  has  been  supposed  that  the  story  was  a  trick  to 
frighten  the  vicious  and  superstitious  emperor,  which  is 
not  very  likely.  There  is  no  authority,  beyond  Plutarch's 
report,  who  lived  long  after,  and  was  very  credulous,  for 
the  story  itself ;  and  if  a  voice  was  actually  heard,  it  does 
not  follow  that  it  said  those  exact  words,  or  that  the  sub- 
sequent delivery  of  the  message  produced  any  thing  more 
than  a  fancied  acknowledgment.  A  sceptic  at  court  might 
have  resolved  it  into  some  common  message,  perhaps 
a  watchword  :  perhaps  some  smugglers  meant  to  tell 
their  correspondent  that  uall was  up  with  them!"  Jok- 
ing and  scepticism  apart,  however,  the  story  is  a  fine 
one  ;  so  much  so,  that  it  is  surprising  Milton  did  not 
make  a  more  particular  allusion  to  it  in  his  noble  juvenile 


GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS.  23! 

ode  on  the  "  Nativity,"  where  he  speaks  of  the  voices 
heard  at  the  cessation  of  the  oracles  :  — 

"  The  lonely  mountains  o'er, 

And  the  resounding  shore, 

A  voice  of  weeping  heard,  and  loud  lament" 


ON  GIANTS,  OGRES,  AND   CYCLOPS. 

T  would  be  difficult  to  find  an  early  national 
history  without  a  giant  in  it.  Any  thing  great 
in  its  effects,  and  supposed  not  to  be  very 
tender-hearted,  was  a  giant.  A  violent  set 
of  neighbors  were  giants.  An  opposer  of  the 
gods  was  a  giant,  and  threw  mountains  at  them  instead 
of  sceptical  essays.  Evil  genii  were  gigantic.  The  same 
Persian  word  came  to  signify  a  giant,  a  devil,  and  a  magi- 
cian. An  older  word,  in  the  Persian  language,  meaning  a 
giant,  gave  its  name  to  the  ancient  dynasty  of  the  Caian- 
ides.  Kings,  in  ancient  times,  when  physical  more  than 
moral  dignity  was  in  request,  were  sometimes  chosen  on 
account  of  their  stature.  Agamemnon  is  represented  as 
taller,  by  the  head  and  shoulders,  than  any  man  in  his 
army ;  and  probably  it  was  as  much  on  account  of  his 
height  as  his  other  supremacy  that  he  was  called  Anax 
Andron$  King  of  Men.  An  etymologist  would  even  see 
in  the  word  Anax  a  resemblance  to  the  Anakites  of  Scrip- 
ture. It  is  remarkable  that  Virgil,  in  his  "  Elysium,"  has 
given  the  old  poet  Musaeus  a  similar  superiority  over  his 
brethren  ;  as  if  every  kind  of  power  in  the  early  ages  was 
associated  with  that  of  body.  Moral  enormity  was  natu- 
rally typified  by  physical.     "It  may  be  observed,"  says 


232  GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS. 

Mr.  Hole,  "  that  a  giant,  in  Arabic  or  Persian  fables,  is 
commonly  a  negro  or  infidel  Indian,  as  he  is  in  our  old 
romances  a  Saracen  Paynim,  a  votary  of  Mahound  and 
Termagaunt." — "Were  the  negroes  authors,"  he  pleasant- 
ly adds,  "  they  would  probably  characterize  their  giants  by 
whiskers  and  turbans  ;  or  by  hats,  wigs,  and  a  pale  com- 
plexion." * 

In  like  manner,  if  the  English  wrote  allegorical  story- 
books nowadays,  the  oppressive  lord  or  magistrate  would 
be  a  giant.  Fierce  upholders  of  the  old  game-laws  would 
be  monsters  of  the  woods,  that  devoured  a  man  if  he  dared 
to  touch  one  of  their  rabbits.  "  In  books  of  chivalry," 
says  Bishop  Hurd,  "the  giants  were  oppressive  feudal 
lords  ;  and  every  lord  was  to  be  met  with,  like  the  giant, 
in  his  stronghold  or  castle.  Their  dependants  of  the 
lower  form,  who  imitated  the  violence  of  their  superiors, 
and  had  not  their  castles,  but  their  lurking  places,  were 
the  savages  of  romance.  The  greater  lord  was  called  a 
giant,  for  his  power  ;  the  less,  a  savage  for  his  brutality. 
All  this  is  shadowed  out  of  the  Gothic  tales,  and  some- 
times expressed  in  plain  words.  The  objects  of  the 
knight's  vengeance  go  indeed  by  the  various  names  of 
giants,  paynims,  Saracens,  and  savages.  But  of  what 
family  they  all  are,  is  clearly  seen  from  the  poet's  de- 
scription :  — 

'  What,  mister  wight,  quoth  he,  and  how  far  hence 
Is  he,  that  doth  to  travellers  such  harmes? 
He  is,  said  he,  a  man  of  great  defence, 
Expert  in  battell  and  in  deedes  of  armes  ; 
And  more  emboldened  by  the  wicked  charmes 
With  which  his  daughter  doth  him  still  support : 
Having  great  lordships  got  and  goodly  farmes 

*  "  Remarks  on  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments,"  p.  80. 


GIANTS,   OGRES,   AND   CYCLOPS.  233 

Through  strong  oppression  of  his  powre  extort ; 

By  which  he  still  them  holds,  and  keeps  with  strong  effort. 

And  dayly  he  his  wrongs  encreaseth  more, 

For  never  wight  he  lets  to  pass  that  waye 

Over  his  bridge,  albee  he  rich  or  poore, 

But  he  him  makes  his  passage-penny  paye ; 

Else  he  doth  hold  him  backe  or  beate  awaye. 

Thereto  he  hath  a  groom  of  evil  guise, 

Whose  scalp  is  bare,  that  bondage  doth  bewraye, 

Which  pols  and  pils  the  poore  in  piteous  wise, 

But  he  himself  upon  the  rich  doth  tyrannise.' 

"Here,"  says  the  Bishop,  "we  have  the  great  oppressive 
baron  very  graphically  set  forth.  And  the  groom  of  evil 
guise  is  as  plainly  the  baron's  vassal.  The  romancers,  we 
see,  took  no  great  liberty  with  these  respectable  person- 
ages, when  they  called  the  one  a  giant,  and  the  other  a 
savage."  * 

That  men  of  gigantic  stature  have  existed  here  and 
there,  we  have  had  testimony  in  our  own  days.  Some  of 
them,  probably  not  the  tallest,  have  been  strong.  The 
others  are  weak  and  ill-formed,  like  children  that  have 
outgrown  their  strength.  Whether  giants  ever  existed  as 
a  body  is  still  a  question.  The  Patagonians  of  Commodore 
Byron  have  come  down  to  a  reasonable  stature  ;  and  the 
bones  that  used  to  be  exhibited  as  proofs  undeniable 
of  enormous  men,  turn  out  to  be  those  of  the  mammoth 
and  the  elephant.  But  this  is  the  prose  of  gigantology. 
In  poetry  they  are  still  alive  and  stalking. 

The  earliest  giants  were  monstrous  as  well  as  huge. 
Those  that  warred  with  the  gods,  and  heaped  Ossa  upon 
Pelion,  had  a  multitude  of  heads  and  arms,  with  serpents 
instead  of  legs.  Typhon,  the  evil  principle,  the  dreadful 
wind  (still  known  in  the  East  under  the  same  name,  the 

*  Todd's  "  Spenser,"  vol.  vi.  p.  7. 


234  GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS. 

Tifoon),  had  dragons,  instead  of  human  heads,  and  out  of 
each  of  them  threw  the  shriek  of  a  different  animal.  En- 
celadus  was  thrust  under  Mount  Etna,  from  which  he  still 
vomits  fire  and  smoke,  and  when  he  turns  his  side  there 
is  an  earthquake.  Otus  and  Ephialtes  grew  nine  inches  a 
month,  and  at  nine  years  old  made  their  campaign  against 
the  gods.  Now  and  then  a  giant  undertook  to  be  more 
courtly  and  pious.  When  Juno,  Neptune,  and  Minerva 
conspired  to  dethrone  Jupiter,  Briareus  went  up  into 
heaven,  and  seating  himself  on  his  right  hand,  looked  so 
very  shocking  that  the  deities  were  fain  to  desist. 

There  is  a  confusion  of  the  giants  with  the  Titans,  but 
their  wars  were  different.  Those  of  the  Titans  were  against 
Ccelus  and  Saturn ;  the  giants  warred  against  Jupiter. 
They  were  also  of  a  different  nature,  the  Titans  being  of 
proper  celestial  origin,  whereas  the  birth  of  the  giants  was 
as  monstrous  as  their  shapes.  As  to  the  great  stature  of 
the  Titans,  all  the  gods  were  gigantic.  It  was  only  in 
their  visits  to  earth  that  they  accommodated  themselves 
to  human  size,  and  then  not  in  their  wars.  One  of  the 
noblest  uses  ever  made  of  this  association  of  bodily  size 
with  divine  power  is  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  where  Milton, 
in  one  of  those  passages  in  which  his  theology  is  as  weak 
and  perplexed  as  his  verse  is  powerful,  makes  Abdiel  say 
to  the  leader  of  the  infernal  armies,  — 

"  Fool !  not  to  think  how  vain 
Against  the  Omnipotent  to  rise  in  arms  ; 
Who  out  of  smallest  things  could  without  end 
Have  raised  incessant  armies  to  defeat 
Thy  folly  ;  or  with  solitary  hand 
Reaching  beyond  all  lifiiit,  at  one  blow, 
Unaided,  could  hint  finished  thee,  and  whelm'd 
Thy  legions  under  darkness." 

"  Solitary  hand,"   says   Bishop   Newton,    "  means   his 


GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS.  235 

single  hand."  Oh  no  !  it  is  much  finer  than  that.  It 
means  his  hand,  visibly  alone,  —  with  nothing  round  about 
it,  —  solitary  in  the  great  space  of  existence.  It  stretches 
out  into  the  ether,  dashing,  at  one  blow,  a  great  host  into 
nothing;  then  draws  back  into  heaven,  and  there  is  a 
silence  as  if  existence  itself  were  annihilated. 

The  Cyclops  is  a  variety  of  the  giant  monstrous.  He 
has  one  eye,  and  is  a  man-eater.  Mr.  Bryant,  who,  in  his 
"  Elements  of  Ancient  Mythology,"  amidst  a  heap  of  wild 
and  gratuitous  assumptions,  has  some  ingenious  conject- 
ures, is  of  opinion  that  a  Cyclops  was  a  watch-tower,  with 
a  round  window  in  it  showing  a  light,  and  that  by  the 
natural  progress  of  fable  the  tower  became  a  man.  If  the 
light  however  was  for  good  purposes,  the  charge  of  man- 
eating  is  against  the  opinion.  The  Cyclopes,  a  real  people, 
who  left  the  old  massy  specimens  of  architecture,  called 
after  their  name,  are  said  to  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
carrying  shields  with  an  eye  painted  on  them,  or  wore 
visors  with  a  hole  to  see  through.  But  these  conjectures 
are  not  necessary  to  our  treatise.  The  proper,  huge,  can- 
nibal giant,  the  Fee-faw-fum  of  antiquity,  is  our  monster. 
Homer,  who  wandered  about  the  world,  and  took  marvels 
as  they  came,  has  painted  him  in  all  his  cruelty.  Theoc- 
ritus, writing  pastorals  at  the  court  of  Ptolemy,  and  more 
of  a  "  sweet  Signior,"  found  out  a  refinement  for  him, 
which,  to  say  the  truth,  is  superior  to  jesting,  and  has 
touched  a  chord  which  the  inventor  of  the  character  of 
Hector  would  have  admired.  He  made  Polyphemus  in 
love  ;  and  we  are  sorry  for  the  monster,  and  wish  Galatea 
to  treat  him  with  as  much  tenderness  as  is  compatible 
with  her  terrors.*     His  discovery  of  his  forlorn  condition, 

*  Those  who  wish  to  know  how  music  can  express  a  giant's  misery  con- 


236  GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS. 

his  fear  that  his  senses  are  forsaking  him,  and  his  eager- 
ness to  suppose  that  he  is  not  altogether  alien  to  humanity, 
because  the  village  girls,  when  he  speaks  to  them  from  his 
mountain  at  night-time,  laughed  at  him,  render  him  no 
longer  a  monstrosity  odious,  but  a  difference  pitiable.* 

There  is  a  Polyphemus  in  the  story  of  "  Sindbad  "  so  like 
Homer's,  that  the  ingenious  author  of  the  "  Remarks  on 
the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments  "  pronounces  it  to  be 
copied  from  him.  Homer,  however,  might  have  copied  it 
from  the  Orientals.  He  might  have  heard  it  from  Eastern 
traders,  granting  it  was  unknown  to  the  Greeks  before. 
The  wanderings  of  Ulysses  imply  a  compilation  of  wonders 
from  all  parts  of  the  world.  The  Greeks,  except  in  this 
instance,  appear  to  have  had  no  idea  of  a  nation  of  giants. 
Even  Polyphemus  they  mixed  up  with  their  mythology, 
making  him  a  son  of  Neptune.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
grandiosity  of  the  Orientals  supplied  them  with  giants  in 
abundance,  and  Sir  John  Mandeville  had  no  -need,  as  Mr. 
Hole  imagines,  to  go  to  Virgil  and  Ovid  for  his  descrip- 
tions of  huge  monsters,  eating  men  as  they  go,  "  all  raw 
and  all  quicke." 

Ariosto,  in  the  seventeenth  book  of  his  great  poem,  has 
a  Polyphemus  with  two  projecting  bones,  instead  of  eyes, 
of  the  color  of  fungus.     This  is  very  ghastly.     He  calls 


trasted  with  the  happiness  of  two  innocent  lovers,  should  hear  the  serenata 
of  "  Acis  and  Galatea,"  by  Handel,  the  giant  of  the  orchestra. 

('■  Where  giant  Handel  stands, 

Arm'd,  like  Briareus,  with  his  hundred  hands." — Pope.) 

The  terrible  intonations  of  Polyphemus  in  his  despair,  with  those  lovely  un- 
weeting  strains  of  the  happy  pair  immediately  issuing  out  upon  them,  "  Ere  I 
forsake  my  love,"  &a,  offer  perhaps  the  finest  direct  piece  of  contrast  in  the 
whole  circle  of  music. 

*  Theocritus,  "  Idyll."  xi.  v.  72. 


GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS.  237 

him  an  orco,  that  is  to  say,  an  ogre.  Ogre,  whether  de- 
rived from  the  Latin  orcus,  or  from  Oigour  (a  tribe  of 
Tartars),  or  Hongrois,  or  Hungarian,*  is  a  man-eater; 
and  orco  appears  to  be  the  same,  though  not  confined  to 
the  man-monster.  The  same  poet,  in  his  rifacimento  of 
the  story  of  Andromeda  (canto  10),  calls  the  fish  an  ore; 
and  the  word  is  used  in  a  like  sense  in  our  elder  poetry. 
Ariosto's  Polyphemus  (for  he  gives  him  a  cavern,  sheep, 
&c,  exactly  like  those  of  the  old  Cyclops)  has  no  sight 
at  all  with  those  horrible  goggles  of  his.  An  exquisite 
sense  of  smelling  supplies  the  want  of  it ;  and  he  comes 
running  upon  his  prey,  dipping  his  nose  towards  the 
ground. 

"  Mentre  aspettiamo,  in  gran  piacer  sedendo, 
Che  da  caccia  ritorni  il  signor  nostro, 
Vedemmo  l'orco  a  noi  venir  correndo 
Lungo  il  lito  del  mar,  terribil  mostro. 
Dio  vi  guardi,  signor,  che  '1  viso  orrendo 
De  l'orco  a  gli  occhi  mai  vi  sia  dimostro. 
Meglio  e  per  fama  aver  notiza  d'esso, 
Ch'  andargli,  si  che  lo  veggiate,  appresso. 

"  Non  si  puo  compartir  quanto  sia  lungo, 
Si  smisuratamente  e  tutto  grosso. 
In  luogo  d'  occhi,  di  color  di  fungo 
Sotto  la  fronte  ha  due  coccole  d'osso. 
Verso  noi  vien,  come  vi  dico,  lungo 
II  lito :  e  par  ch'un  monticel  sia  mosso. 
Mostra  le  zanne  fuor,  come  fa  il  porco : 
Ha  lungo  il  naso,  e'l  sen  bavoso  e  sporco. 

"  Correndo  viene,  e'l  muso  a  guisa  porta 
Che'l  braccio  suol,  quando  entra  in  su  la  traccia. 
Tutti  che  lo  veggiam,  con  faccia  smorta 
In  fugo  andiamo  ove  il  timor  ne  caccia. 


*  See  "  Fairy  Mythology,"  vol.  ii. 


238  GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS. 

Poco  il  veder  lui  cieco  ne  conforta  ; 
Quando  fiutando  sol  par  che  piu  faccia, 
Ch  'altri  non  fa  ch  'abbia  odorato  e  lume : 
E  bisogno  al  fuggire  eran  le  piume." 

While  thus  we  sat,  prepared  for  mirth  and  glee, 
Waiting  the  king's  appearance  from  the  chase, 
Suddenly,  to  our  horror,  by  the  sea, 
We  saw  the  ogre  coming  towards  the  place. 
God  keep  you,  Sir,  in  his  benignity, 
From  setting  eyes  on  such  a  dreadful  face  ! 
Better,  by  far,  of  such  things  to  be  told, 
Than  see  a  sight  to  make  a  man  turn  old. 

I  cannot  tell  you  his  immeasured  size, 
So  huge  he  was,  and  of  a  bulk  throughout. 
Upon  his  horrid  front,  instead  of  eyes, 
Two  bony  roundels,  fungus-hued,  stuck  out. 
Thus,  like  the  only  thing  'twixt  earth  and  skies, 
He  came  along ;  and  under  his  brute  snout 
Tusks  he  put  forth,  bared  like  the  boar's  in  wrath  ; 
And  his  huge  breast  was  filthy  with  a  froth. 

Running  he  comes,  projecting  towards  the  ground 

His  loathly  muzzle,  dog-like,  on  the  scent. 

With  ashy  faces  we  arise,  and  bound, 

Fast  as  we  can,  before  the  dire  intent. 

Small  comfort  to  us  was  his  blindness  found  ; 

Since  with  his  smelling  only  as  he  bent, 

More  sure  he  seem'd  than  creatures  that  have  sight ; 

And  wings  alone  could  match  him  for  a  flight. 

The  poverty-stricken  propriety  of  Mr.  Hoole  regarded 
these  circumstances  as  "puerilities."  He  ventured  to 
turn  Ariosto's  wine  into  water,  and  then  judged  him  in 
his  unhappy  sobriety.  Mr.  Hoole  was  not  man  enough  to 
play  the  child  with  a  great  southern  genius.  Ariosto's 
poem  is  a  microcosm,  which  sees  fair-play  to  all  the  circles 
of  imagination,  at  least  to  all  such  as  are  common  to  men 
in  their  ordinary  state ;  and  he  did  not  omit  those  that 


GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS.  239 

include  childhood,  and  that,  in  some  measure,  are  never 
forgotten  by  us.  This  literally  construed,  is  in  high  epic 
taste,  as  much  so  as  the  homely  similes  of  the  Iliad  and 
the  Odyssey.  We  should  be  thankful,  for  our  parts,  to  an 
epic  poet  who  could  manage  to  introduce  the  big-headed 
and  bushy-haired  ogres  of  Our  own  story-books,  with  the 
little  ogres,  their  children,  all  with  crowns  on  their  heads. 
We  sympathize  with  the  hand  of  the  diminutive  "gigant- 
icide,".  who  felt  them  as  they  lay  in  their  grim  slumber, 
all  in  a  row.  Was  this,  by  the  way,  a  satire  on  royalty  ? 
It  is  an  involuntary  one.  The  giant  Gargantua,  in  "  Rabe- 
lais," who  ate  three  men  in  a  salad  was  a  king. 

Several  of  Spenser's  allegorical  personages  are  giants. 
The  allegory  is  incidental,  and  helps  to  vary  the  individual 
character;  but  otherwise  the  bodily  pictures  are  complete 
specimens  of  the  giants  of  chivalry.  One  of  them  is 
Disdain  — 

"  Who  did  disdain 
To  be  so  called,  and  whoso  did  him  call." 

Of  another  giant,  of  the  same  name,  he  tells  us  that 

"  His  lookes  were  dreadful],  and  his  fiery  eies, 
Like  two  great  beacons,  glared  bright  and  wyde, 
Glauncing  askew,  as  if  his  enemies 
He  scorned  in  his  overweening  pryde  ; 
And  stalking  stately,  like  a  crane,  did  stryde 
At  every  step  upon  the  tiptoes  hie ; 
And  all  the  way  he  went,  on  every  syde 
He  gaz'd  about,  and  stared  horriblie, 
As  if  he  with  his  looks  would  all  men  terrific 

"  He  wore  no  armour,  ne  for  none  did  care, 
As  no  whit  dreading  any  living  wight ; 
But  in  a  jacket,  quilted  richly  rare 
Upon  checklaton,*  he  was  straungely  dight, 

*  Checklatoun  (Fr.  ciclatoun)  is  supposed  to  be  intended  by  Spenser  foi 
cloth  of  gold. 


240  GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS. 

And  on  his  head  a  roll  of  linnen  plight, 
Like  to  the  Moors  of  Malaber,  he  wore, 
With  which  his  lockes,  as  black  as  pitchy  night, 
Were  bound  about  and  voyded  from  before  ; 
And  in  his  hand  a  mighty  yron  club  he  bore." 

Faerie  Queene,  Book  vi.,  Canto  vii. 

A  third  great  giant  is  Orgoglio  (or  Pride),  a  good  swal- 
lowing name.  A  knight  is  enjoying  himself  with  his  mis- 
tress, when  suddenly  he  hears 

"  A  dreadful  sownd, 
Which  through  the  wood  loud  bellowing  did  rebownd, 
That  all  the  earth  for  terror  seemed  to  shake, 
And  trees  did  tremble.     Th'  Elfe,  therewith  astownd, 
Upstarted  lightly  from  his  looser  make, 
And  his  unready  weapons  gan  in  hand  to  take. 

"But  ere  he  could  his  armour  on  him  dight, 
Or  get  his  shield,  his  monstrous  enimy 
With  sturdie  steps  came  stalking  in  his  sight, 
An  hideous  giant,  horrible  and  hye ; 
The  grownd  all  groned  under  him  for  dread." 

Orgoglio  has  a 

"  Dreadful  club 
All  arm'd  with  ragged  snubbes  and  knottie  grain.'-' 

With  this,  in  a  battle  with  Prince  Arthur,  he  aims  a  ter- 
rible blow,  which,  missing  him  — 

"  Did  fall  to  ground,  and  with  his  heavy  sway, 
So  deeply  dented  in  the  driven  clay, 
That  three  yardes  deep  a  furrow  up  did  throw. 
The  sad  earth,  wounded  with  so  sore  essay, 
Did  groan  full  grievous  underneath  the  blow, 
And  trembling  with  strange  feare,  did  like  an  earthquake  shew." 

Then  follows  one  of  the  noblest  similes  ever  produced. 
Upton  says  that  Longinus  would  have  written  a  whole 
chapter  upon  it :  — 


GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS.  241 

"  As  when  Almightie  Jove,  in  wrathful  mood, 
To  wreake  the  guilt  of  mortal  sins  is  bent, 
Hurls  forth  his  thund'ring  dart  with  deadly  food, 
Enroll'd  in  flames  and  smouldering  dreriment, 
Through  riven  clouds  and  molten  firmament : 
The  fierce  three-forked  engine,  making  way, 
Both  loftie  towres  and  highest  trees  hath  rent, 
And  al!  that  might  his  angry  passage  stay ; 
And,  shooting  in  the  earth,  castes  up  a  mount  of  clay." 

Book  i.  Canto  viii. 

Spenser  writes  the  word  variously  —  giant,  gyaunt,  and 
geaunt ;  for  no  man  had  a  stronger  sense  of  words  as  the 
expressions  of  things,  nor  delighted  more  to  call  in  every 
aid  to  the  emphasis  and  conscious  enjoyment  of  what  he 
was  writing.  His  very  rhymes  are  often  spelled  in  an  arbi- 
trary manner,  to  enforce  the  sound  ;  and  he  tells  a  dread- 
ful story  with  all  the  shuddering  epithets,  and  lingering, 
fearful  fondness  of  a  child. 

Take  another  of  his  giants  —  one  Corflambo,  whose 
eyes  are  very  new  and  terrible  :  — 

"  At  length  they  spied  where  towards  them  with  speed 
A  squire  came  galloping,  as  he  would  flie, 
Bearing  a  little  dwarfe  before  his  steed, 
That  all  the  way  full  loud  for  aide  did  crie, 
That  seem'd  his  shrikes  would  rend  the  brasen  skie : 
Whom  after  did  a  mightie  man  pursew, 
Riding  upon  a  dromedare  on  hie, 
Of  stature  huge,  and  horrible  of  hew, 
That  would  have  mazed  a  man  his  dreadfull  face  to  view : 

For  from  his  fearfulle  eyes  two  fierie  beanies. 
More  sharpe  than  points  of  needles,  did  proceede, 
Shooting  forth  farre  awaye  two  flaming  streames, 
Full  of  sad  poiure,  that  poysnous  bale  did  breede 
To  all  that  on  him  lookt  without  good  heed, 
And  secretly  his  enemies  did  slay: 
Like  as  the  basiliske,  of  serpent's  seede, 
From  powrefull  eyes  close  venim  doth  convay 
Into  the  looker's  hart,  and  killetk  farre  away." 

Book  iv.  Canto  viii. 
16 


242  GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS. 

This  Corflambo  is  another  good  name.  The  names  of 
the  giants  in  the  beautiful  romance  of  "  Amadis  of  Gaul "  — 
(superior,  undoubtedly,  to  "  Palmerin  of  England,"  though 
the  latter  also  is  delightful  for  its  bits  of  color,  and  its 
green  and  flowery  places) — are  very  bulky,  and  "  talk  big." 
There  is  Gandalac  and  Albadanger ;  and  Madanfabul, 
of  the  Vermilion  Tower ;  and  Gromadaga,  the  Giantess 
of  the  Boiling  Lake ;  and  Ardan  Canileo,  the  Dreadful ; 
and  above  all,  the  mighty  and  most  mouthing  Famongom- 
adan,  who  seems  to  inform  his  enemies  that  he  means  to 
flame  and  gobble  'em.  Gandalac  makes  the  least  oral 
pretensions  ;  and  "  he  was  not  so  wicked  as  other  giants, 
but  of  a  good  and  gentle  demeanor,  except  when  he  was 
enraged,  and  then  would  he  do  great  cruelties."  *  But  he 
was  very  terrible.     He  was  "so  large  and  mismade,  that 

*  See  the  excellent  version  of  Mr.  Southey,  vol.  i.,  p.  37. 

["  Amadis  of  Gaul "  and  "  Palmerin  of  England  "  were  among  Don  Quixote's 
favorite  romances  of  chivalry.  He  and  the  curate  used  to  dispute  long  and 
learnedly  as  to  who  was  the  better  knight,  Palmerin  of  England  or  Amadis  of 
Gaul. 

Bernardo  Tasso,  father  of  the  poet,  translated  "  Amadis  de  Gaul "  into 
Italian;  and  Tasso  himself,  as  quoted  by  Ticknor,  says  that  the  "Amadis" 
"is  the  most  beautiful,  and  perhaps  the  most  profitable,  story  of  its  kind  that 
can  be  read,  because  in  its  sentiments  and  tone  it  leaves  all  others  behind 
it,  and  in  the  variety  of  its  incidents  yields  to  none  written  before  or  since>" 
Sir  Philip  Sidney  says  he  had  known  men  "  made  better  and  braver  by  its 
perusal."  According  to  Burton,  the  work  was  a  favorite  among  the  English 
gentry  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Southey's  version  of  "Amadis  of  Gaul" 
was  published  by  Longman  in  1803,  and  was  the  subject  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
first  contribution  to  the  "  Edinburgh  Review."  "  Amadis  is  an  extraordinary 
book,"  wrote  Southey,  in  a  letter  to  Miss  Barker  (the  Bhow  Begum  of 
"  The  Doctor  ") ;  "  and  now  the  job  is  done,  I  am  glad  I  undertook  it.  .  .  . 
I  have  a  sort  of  family  love  for  Vasco  Loberia,  more  than  for  Ariosto  or  Mil- 
ton, approaching  to  what  I  feel  for  Spenser;  and  certainly,  when  I  get  to 
heaven,  he  will  be  one  of  the  very  first  persons  to  whom  I  shall  desire  to  be 
introduced."  —  Ed.] 


GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS.  243 

never  man  saw  him  without  affright ;  "  and  when  he  makes 
his  appearance  in  Chapter  IV.,  "  the  women  ran,  some 
among  the  trees  and  others  fell  down,  and  shut  their  eyes, 
that  they  might  not  see  him." 

By  degrees,  as  men  found  out  that  a  gigantic  stature 
did  not  always  imply  strength,  or  even  courage,  they  be- 
gan to  change  their  fear  into  contempt,  and  to  laugh,  like 
children,  at  the  great  bugbear  that  had  amazed  them.  At 
length,  they  discovered  that  a  giant  could  even  be  good- 
natured  ;  and  then  the  more  philosophical  romancers 
thought  it  necessary  to  do  them  justice.  Hence  the  pleas- 
ant, mock-heroical  giant  of  Pulci,  and  the  amiable  one 
(Dramuziando)  of  "  Palmerin  of  England."  Being  no 
longer  formidable,  however,  they  were  for  the  most  part 
found  to  be  dull  and  awkward,  probably  not  without  some 
ground  in  nature.  It  is  observed,  says  Fuller  (or  in  some 
such  language),  that,  for  the  most  part,  those  who  exceed 
their  fellows  in  a  reasonable  measure  of  height  "are 
but  indifferently  furnished  in  the  cockloft."  *  The  little 
knights  have  as  much  advantage  over  them  in  battle,  as 
the  light  brigantines  had  against  the  overgrown  Spanish 
Armada.  Our  nursery  acquaintance,  Jack  the  Giant 
Killer  (if  he  be  not  a  burlesque  on  Thor  himself),  is  an 
incarnation  of  the  superior  strength  of  wit  over  bulkiness. 
He  has  a  cousin  a  monstrous  giant,  having  three  heads, 
and  who  would  beat  five  hundred  men  in  armor.  On  one 
occasion,  Jack  comes  to  a  large  house  in  a  lonesome  place, 
and  knocking  at  the  gate,  there  issues  forth  a  giant  with 
two  heads,  who  nevertheless  "  did  not  seem  so  fiery  as 
the  former  giant ;  for,"  says  the  Saxon  author,  "  he  was  a 
Welsh  giant." 

*  Fuller's  exact  words  are :  "  Ofttimes  such  who  are  built  four  stories 
high,  are  observed  to  have  little  in  their  cockloft."  —  Ed. 


244  GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS. 

In  the  opening  book  of  the  "  Morgante  Maggiore  "  of 
Pulci,  the  father  of  modern  banter  and  burlesque  (though 
a  genius  at  the  same  time,  capable  of  great  seriousness 
and  pathos),  there  is  a  remarkable  scene,  in  which  Orlando 
comes  upon  a  set  of  monks  in  a  desert,  who  are  pestered 
by  three  giants,  their  neighbors.  The  giants,  who  are  of 
course  infidels  or  Mahometans,  are  in  the  habit  of  throw- 
ing great  stones  at  the  abbey,  so  that  the  monks  cannot  go 
out  for  provisions.  Orlando,  in  his  errantry,  comes  to  the 
abbey  door,  and  knocks  for  some  time  in  vain.  At  length 
he  is  let  in,  and  the  abbot  apologizes,  by  stating  the  block- 
ade in  which  they  are  kept.  The  holy  father  then  proceeds 
to  make  some  very  singular  comments,  in  a  stanza  that 
seems  to  contain  the  first  germs  of  the  style  of  Voltaire. 

"  GH  antichi  padri  nostri  nel  deserto, 
Se  le  lor  opre  sante  erano  e  giuste, 
Del  ben  servir  da  Dio  n'avean  buon  merto ; 
Ne  creder  sol  viversin  di  locuste : 
Piovea  dal  ciel  la  manna,  questo  e  certo  : 
Ma  qui  convien,  che  spesso  assagi  e  guste 
Sassi,  che  piovon  di  sopra  quel  monte, 
Che  gettano  Alabastro  e  Passamonte. 

"  E'l  terzo  ch'e  Morgante  pio  fiero, 

Isveglie  e  pini,  e  faggi,  e  cerri,  e  gli  oppi, 
E  gettagli  infin  qui :  questo  e  pur  vero : 
Non  posso  far  che  d'ira  non  iscoppi. 
Mentre  che  parlan  cosi  in  cimitero, 
Un  sasso  par  che  Rondel  quasi  sgroppi  ; 
Che  da  giganti  giu  venne  da  alto 
Tanto,  ch'e  prese  sotto  il  tetto  un  sal  to. 

"  Tirati  dentro,  cavalier,  per  Dio, 
Disse  l'abate,  che  la  manna  casca. 
Rispose  Orlando :  caro  abate  mio,  . 
Costui  non  vuol  che  '1  mio  caval  piu  pasca : 
Veggo  che  lo  guarebbe  del  restio : 
Quel  sasso  par  che  di  buon  braccio  nasca. 


GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS.  245 

Rispose  il  santo  padre ;  io  non  t'inganno, 
Credo  che  V  monte  un  giomo  gitteranno.n 

"  The  Eremites  of  old,  if  just  and  true, 
And  righteous  in  their  works,  had  blessed  cheer ; 
God's  servants  in  those  days  no  hunger  knew, 
Nor  lived  on  those  same  locusts  all  the  year. 
Doubt  not,  they  had  the  rain  of  manna  too : 
But  as  for  us,  our  pretty  dishes  here 
A  re  stones  ;  which  Passamont  and  Alabaster 
Rain  down  upon  our  heads,  by  way  of  taster. 

"  And  yet  those  two  are  nothing  to  the  third. 
He  tears  me  up  whole  trees,  whole  horrid  oaken 
Trunks  by  the  root ;  he  does  upon  my  word ; 
Our  heads  infallibly  will  all  be  broken." 
While  thus,  as  if  he  could  be  overheard, 
The  monk  stood  talking  low,  there  came  a  token 
So  close  upon  the  house,  it  seem'd  all  over 
With  the  poor  devil,  who  leap'd  under  cover. 

"  For  God's  sake,  come  in  doors,  Sir  I  "  cried  the  priest ; 
"  The  manna's  falling."     "  'Tis  indeed,"  said  t'other : 
"  They  seem  to  grudge  his  feed  to  the  poor  beast ; 
They'd  cure  his  restiveness.     Well,  such  another 
Stunner  as  this  proves  no  weak  arm  at  least, 
No  son,  dear  abbot,  of  a  feeble  mother." 
"  The  Lord,"  exclaimed  the  monk,  "  look  down  upon  us  I 
Some  day,  I  think,  they'll  cast  the  mountain  on  us." 

Orlando  proposes  to  go  and  settle  the  giant ;  which  the 
monk,  after  in  vain  endeavoring  to  dissuade  him,  permits. 

"  Disse  l'abate  col  segnarlo  in  fronte, — 
Va,  che  da  Dio  e  me  sia  benedetto. 
Orlando,  poi  che  salito  ebbe  il  monte 
Si  dirizzo,  come  l'abate  detto 
Gli  avea,  dove  sta  quel  Passamonte ; 
II  quale  Orlando  veggendo  soletto 
Molto  lo  squadra  di  drieto  e  davante  ; 
Poi  domando,  se  star  volea  per  fante. 


"  E'  promettava  di  farlo  godere. 
Orlando  disse ;  pazzo  Saracino, 


246  GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS. 

Io  vengo  a  te,  com'  e  di  Dio  volere, 
Per  dar  ti  morte,  e  non  per  ragazzino. 
A'monaci  suoi  fatto  ha  dispiacere : 
Non  puo  piu  comportarti,  can  mastino. 
Questo  gigante  armar  si  corse  a  furia, 
Quando  sentl  ch'  e'gli  diceva  ingiuria." 

He  cross'd  the  forehead  of  the  kn'ght,  and  said, 
"  Go  then,  of  God,  and  of  our  prayers  befriended." 
Orlando  went,  and  keeping  in  his  head 
The  monk's  directions,  hastily  ascended 
The  height,  and  struck  for  Passamonte's  shed, 
Who  seeing  him  thus  coming  unattended, 
Perused  him  well,  then  cried,  "  I  like  his  plan  ! 
What,  my  new  footboy  ?  eh,  my  little  man  ?  " 

And  then  he  promised  him  his  board  and  pallet. 
"  You  stupid  Saracen  !  "  Orlando  cried, 
"  I  come  to  be  your  death,  and  not  your  valet ; 

Think  of  these  samts  here,  whom  you  keep  inside 

Their  abbey :  'tisn't  to  be  borne,  nor  shall  it, 

You  hound,  you  ;  so  prepare  your  stupid  hide." 

The  giant,  hearing  him  pour  forth  such  evil, 

Ran  in  to  arm  him,  like  a  very  devil. 

The  hero  kills  Alabaster  and  Passamonte,  and  converts 
Morgante,  who  was  prepared  for  him  by  a  dream.  The 
giant  becomes  a  faithful  servant,  both  of  the  knight  and 
the  church,  and  after  many  enormous  achievements,  dies 
of  the  bite  of  a  crab  ;  —  an  edifying  moral.  His  conversa- 
tion, in  the  course  of  his  studies  in  divinity,  is  no  less 
instructive  ;  but  we  are  at  a  loss  how  to  quote  it,  from  the 
reverential  feelings  we  have  for  certain  names,  whose  mis- 
use he  helps  to  expose.  We  would  fain  see  them  kept 
sacred  against  better  days.  There  is  another  giant,  Mar- 
gutte,  who  speaks  still  more  plainly,  and  is  the  prototype 
of  a  worldly  philosophy,  the  natural  offspring  of  a  profaner 
superstition.  "  Margutte,"  says  Ugo  Foscolo,  "  is  a  very 
infidel  giant,  ready  to  confess  his  failings,  and  full  of  droll- 


GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS.  247 

ery.  He  sets  all  a-laughing,  readers,  giants,  devils,  and 
heroes,  and  he  finishes  his  career  by  laughing  till  he 
bursts."  * 

We  do  not  choose,  however,  to  leave  off  speaking  of 
our  old  friends  with  a  burlesque  ;  and,  therefore,  we  shall 
conclude  the  present  chapter  with  a  few  right  earnest 
giants  out  of  the  "  History  of  Prince  Arthur."  A  jest 
cracked  by  that  hero  upon  one  of  them  is  no  joke  infidel. 
It  is  only,  as  the  poet  says,  "  the  ornament  of  his  gravity." 
Arthur,  in  a  battle  with  the  Emperor  of  Rome,  smites  off 
by  the  knees  the  legs  of  a  giant  of  the  name  of  Galapar. 
"  Now,"  quoth  he,  "  art  thou  better  of  a  size  to  deal  with, 
than  thou  wert."  The  Emperor  of  Rome  had  got  together 
fifty  giants,  who  were  "  born  of  fiends,"  to  break  the  front 
of  the  warriors'  battle.  But  a  chapter  in  that  once  popular 
compilation  will  present  the  reader  with  the  complete  giant 
of  the  old  story-books.  The  style  of  the  work  is  incorrect. 
The  compiler  pieces  out  the  fine  things  of  the  old  romances 
with  a  poverty  of  language  that  is  a  poor  substitute  for 
their  simplicity ;  but  the  present  extract  is  "  a  favorable 
specimen  ;  "  and  the  repetitions,  and  other  gossiping  fer- 
vors, have  the  proper  childlike  effect.  We  ascend  the 
giant's  mountain  by  due  degrees.  The  picture  of  him, 
"  baking  his  broad  limbs  by  the  fire,"  is  in  sturdy  epic 
taste  ;  and  "  the  weltering  and  wallowing  "  of  the  fighters 
does  not  mince  the  matter.  There  is  a  Cornish  hug  in  the 
battle.f 


*  See  a  masterly  criticism  in  the  "Quarterly  Review,"  said  to  be  trans- 
lated from  a  contribution  of  this  gentleman,  and  entitled  "  Narrative  and 
Romantic  Poems  of  the  Italians." 

t  Fuller,  in  the  "  Worthies,"  gives  this  definition  of  a  Cornish  hug:  " The 
Cornish  are  masters  of  the  art  of  wrestling ;  so  that  if  the  Olympian  games 
were  now  in  fashion,  they  would  come  away  with  victory.     Their  hug  is  a 


248  GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS. 

"HOW  A  MAN  OF  THE  COUNTRY  TOLD  HIM  OF  A  MAR- 
VELLOUS GIANT,  AND  HOW  HE  FOUGHT  AND  CON- 
QUERED  HIM. 

"  Then  came  to  him  a  husbandman  of  the  country,  and 
told  him  how  there  was,  in  the  country  of  Constantine, 
beside  Britain,  a  great  giant,  which  had  slain,  murthered, 
and  devoured  much  people  of  the  country,  and  had  been 
sustained  seven  years  with  the  children  of  the  commons  of 
that  land,  insomuch  that  all  the  children  be  all  slain  and 
destroyed.  And  now  late  he  hath  taken  the  Duchess  of 
Brittany,  as  she  rode  with  her  men,  and  had  led  her  to  his 
lodging,  which  is  in  a  mountain  :  and  many  people  followed 
her,  more  than  five  hundred  ;  but  all  they  might  not  rescue 
her,  but  they  left  her  shrieking  and  crying  lamentably  ; 
wherefore  I  suppose  that  he  hath  slain  her  in  fulfilling  his 
foul  lust ;  she  was  wife  unto  your  cousin,  Sir  Howel,  the 
which  was  full  nigh  of  your  blood.  Now,  as  ye  are  a  right- 
ful king,  have  pity  on  this  lady,  and  revenge  us  all  as  ye 
are  a  valiant  conqueror. 

"'Alas!'  said  King  Arthur,  'this  is  a  great  mischief ; 
I  had  rather  than  the  best  realm  that  I  have  that  I  had 
been  a  furlong  before  him,  for  to  have  rescued  that  lady. 
Now,  fellow,'  said  King  Arthur,  'canst  thou  bring  me 
there  whereas  this  giant  haunteth  ?  ' 

"  '  Yea,  Sir,'  said  the  good  man  ;  '  lo,  yonder  whereas  ye 
see  the  two  great  fires,  there  shall  ye  not  fail  to  find  him, 
and  more  treasure,  as  I  suppose,  than  is  in  all  the  realm  of 
France.' 

"  When  King  Arthur  had  understood  this  piteous  case, 


cunning  dose  with  their  fellow-combatant;  the  fruit  whereof  is  his  fair  fall,  ot 
foil  at  the  least.  It  is  figuratively  applicable  to  the  deceitful  dealing  of  such, 
who  secretly  design  their  overthrow  whom  they  openly  embrace."  —  Ed. 


GIANTS,    OGRES,   AND    CYCLOPS.  249 

he  returned  into  his  tent,  and  called  unto  him  Sir  Kaye 
and  Sir  Bedivere,  and  commanded  them  secretly  to  make 
ready  horse  and  harness  for  himself,  and  for  them  twain  ; 
for  after  evensong  he  would  ride  on  pilgrimage,  with  them 
two  only,  unto  Saint  Mighel's  Mount.  And  then  anon 
they  made  them  ready,  and  armed  them  at  all  points,  and 
took  their  horses  and  their  shields  ;  and  so  they  three 
departed  thence,  and  rode  forth  as  fast  as  they  might,  till 
they  came  unto  the  furlong  of  that  mount,  and  there  they 
alighted,  and  the  king  commanded  them  to  tarry  there, 
and  said  he  would  himself  go  up  to  that  mount. 

"  And  so  he  ascended  up  the  mount  till  he  came  to  a 
great  fire,  and  there  found  he  a  careful  widow  wringing 
her  hands  and  making  great  sorrow,  sitting  by  a  grave  new 
made.  And  then  King  Arthur  saluted  her,  and  demanded 
her  wherefore  she  made  such  lamentation.  Unto  whom 
she  answered  and  said,  '  Sir  Knight,  speak  soft,  for  yonder 
is  a  devil ;  if  he  hear  thee  speak  he  will  come  and  destroy 
thee.  I  hold  thee  unhappy  :  what  dost  thou  here  in  this 
mountain  ?  for  if  ye  were  such  fifty  as  ye  be,  ye  were  not 
able  to  make  resistance  against  this  devil :  here  lieth  a 
duchess  dead,  which  was  the  fairest  lady  of  the  world, 
wife  unto  Sir  Howel  of  Britain.' 

" '  Dame,'  said  the  King,  '  I  come  from  the  great  con- 
queror, King  Arthur,  for  to  treat  with  that  tyrant  for  his 
liege  people.' 

" '  Fie  upon  such  treaties,'  said  the  widow  ;  '  he  setteth 
nought  by  the  King,  nor  by  no  man  else  ;  but  and  if  thou 
hath  brought  King  Arthur's  wife,  Dame  Guenever,  he 
shall  be  gladder  than  if  thou  hadst  given  him  half  France. 
Beware  ;  approach  him  not  too  nigh ;  for  he  hath  over- 
come and  vanquished  fifteen  kings,  and  hath  made  him  a 
coat  full  of  precious  stones,  embroidered  with  their  beards, 


25O  GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS. 

which  they  sent  him  to  have  his  love  for  salvation  of  their 
people  this  last  Christmas,  and  if  thou  wilt  speak  with 
him  at  yonder  great  fire,  he  is  at  supper.' 

" '  Well,'  said  King  Arthur,  '  I  will  accomplish  my  mes- 
sage for  all  your  fearful  words,'  and  went  forth  by  the  crest 
of  that  hill,  and  saw  where  he  sat  at  supper  gnawing  on  a 
limb  of  a  man,  baking  his  broad  limbs  by  the  fire,  and 
breechless,  and  three  damsels  turning  three  broaches, 
whereon  was  broached  twelve  young  children,  late  born, 
like  young  birds. 

"  When  King  Arthur  beheld  that  piteous  sight,  he  had 
great  compassion  on  them,  so  that  his  heart  bled  for  sor- 
row, and  hailed  him,  saying  in  this  wise  :  '  He  that  all 
the  world  wieldeth  give  thee  short  life  and  shameful 
death,  and  the  devil  have  thy  soul !  Why  hast  thou  mur- 
thered  these  young  innocent  children,  and  this  duchess  ? 
Therefore  arise  and  dress  thee,  thou  glutton,  for  this  day 
shalt  thou  die  of  my  hands.' 

"  Then  anon  the  giant  start  up,  and  took  a  great  club  in 
his  hand,  and  smote  at  the  King  that  his  coronal  fell  to 
the  earth.  And  King  Arthur  hit  him  again,  that  he 
carved  his  belly,  and  that  his  entrails  fell  down  to  the 
ground.  Then  the  giant  with  great  anguish  threw  away 
his  club  of  iron  and  caught  the  King  in  his  arms,  that  he 
crushed  his  ribs.  Then  the  three  damsels  kneeled  down, 
and  called  unto  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  for  help  and  com- 
fort of  the  noble  King  Arthur.  And  then  King  Arthur 
weltered  and  wrung,  that  he  was  one  while  under,  and 
another  while  above  ;  and  so  weltering  and  wallowing, 
they  rolled  down  the  hill,  till  they  came  to  the  sea-mark  ; 
and  as  they  so  tumbled  and  weltered,  King  Arthur  smote 
him  with  his  dagger,  and  it  fortuned  they  came  unto  the 
place  whereas  the  two  knights  were  that  kept  King  Arthur's 


GIANTS,    OGRES,    AND    CYCLOPS.  25 1 

horse.  Then  when  they  saw  the  King  fast  in  the  giant's 
arms,  they  came  and  loosed  him  ;  and  then  King  Arthur 
commanded  Sir  Kaye  to  smite  off  the  giant's  head,  and  to 
set  it  upon  a  truncheon  of  a  spear,  and  bear  it  to  Sir  Howel, 
and  tell  him  '  that  his  enemy  is  slain  ;  and  after  let  his 
head  be  bound  to  a  barbican,  that  all  the  people  may  see 
and  behold  it  ;  and  go  ye  two  to  the  mountain,  and  fetch 
me  my  shield,  and  my  sword,  and  also  the  great  club  of 
iron  ;  and  as  for  the  treasure,  take  it  to  you,  for  ye  shall 
find  there  goods  without  number ;  so  that  I  have  his  kirtle 
and  the  club,  I  desire  no  more.  This  was  the  fiercest 
giant  that  ever  I  met  with,  save  one  in  the  mount  of 
Araby,  which  I  overcame ;  but  this  was  greater  and 
fiercer.' "  * 


*  "Of  the  two  proposed  books,  respecting  which  you  ask  me  the  partic- 
ulars," writes  Leigh  Hunt  to  John  Forster,  "  one  is  '  The  Fabulous  World,' 
the  chief  portion  of  which,  though  not  under  that  title,  or,  indeed,  under  any 
general  one,  appeared  many  years  ago  in  the  '  New  Monthly  Magazine,'  as 
articles  on  Satyrs,  Nymphs,  Giants,  Mermaids,  &c.  They  were  written  with 
my  customary  painstaking,  interspersed  with  quotations  from  poets  of  divers 
languages  (translated  when  necessary),  and  very  much  approved.  Everybody, 
to  whom  their  incorporation  into  a  volume  was  talked  of,  seemed  to  hail  the 
notion ;  and,  in  truth,  there  is  no  such  book  in  the  language,  nor,  I  believe,  in 
any  other.  I  propose  to  complete  what  was  wanting  to  it  in  the  '  New 
Monthly,'  and  to  add  the  miraculous  goods  and  chattels  belonging  to  my 
fabulous  people,  such  as  Enchanted  Spears,  Flying  Sophas,  Illimitable  Tents 
that  pack  up  in  nutshells,  &c."  "The  Fabulous  World"  was  never  published, 
and  the  articles  that  were  to  have  formed  the  greater  part  of  the  volume  are 
here  first  collected  together.  —  Ed. 


253 


GOG  AND  MAGOG,  AND 


GOG  AND  MAGOG,  AND  THE  WALL  OF 
DHOULKARNEIN. 

SHADOW  seems  to  fall  upon  our  paper  at 
the  very  mention  of  the  words,  "  Gog  and  Ma- 
gog," —  fine,  mouth-filling,  mysterious  names  ; 
and  of  whom  ?  Nobody  knows.  The  names, 
we  doubt  not,  have  helped  to  keep  up  the  in- 
terest ;  but  the  mystery  is  a  mighty  one  of  itself,  and  is 
found  in  reverend  places.  The  grand  prophet  Ezekiel  has 
a  long  mention  of  Gog  and  Magog,  and  describes  them  as 
a  terrible  people  ;  but  nobody  has  yet  discovered  who  they 
are.  They  have  been  thought  to  be  Goths,  Celts,  Germans, 
Tartars,  &c. ;  but  the  most  received  opinion  is,  that  they 
are  Scythians  ;  and  there  is  a  curious  chapter  in  Bochart, 
which  would  corroborate  a  notion  that  is  said  to  have  pre- 
vailed among  the  Turks,  and  to  which  late  events  have 
given  additional  color :  to  wit,  that  the  Russians  are  a  part 
of  their  family.*  At  all  events,  dear  reader,  Gog  and  Ma- 
gog are  not  the  giants  of  Guildhall ;  albeit  the  latter,  like 
the  former,  are  unappropriated  phenomena  —  supposed, 
we  believe,  to  represent  an  ancient  Briton  and  a  Roman, 
and  to  be  the  relics  of  some  quondam  city  pageant. 

It  seems  agreed,  however,  that  although  nobody  knows 
who  Gog  and  Magog  are,  they  are  mixed  up  somehow 


*  "  Geographia  Sacra,"  cap.  13.  [The  reader  will  find  a  pleasant  passage 
concerning  Bochart  in  the  article  on  "  Bricklayers  and  an  Old  Book,"  in  "  The 
Seer."  Hallam,  too,  in  the  "  Literature  of  Europe,"  has  a  good  word  for  the 
fine  old  scholar.  —  Ed.] 


THE   WALL   OF   DHOULKARNEIN.  253 

with  the  region  about  Caucasus ;  and  the  Orientals,  who 
call  them  Yajouje  and  Mnjouje,*  think  they  are  to  come 
out  of  the  mountains  on  the  Caspian,  and  overrun  the 
world.  Some  hold  them  to  be  giants  ;  others  say  they  are 
an  innumerable  race  of  pigmies.  Bruce  was  asked  about 
them  during  his  travels,  and  informed  that  they  were  hor- 
ribly little.  "  By  God's  help,"  said  the  traveller,  "  I  shall 
not  be  afraid  of  them,  though  they  be  a  hundred  times 
less." 

An  old  tradition,  at  strange  variance  with  prophecy,  says 
that  Gog  and  Magog  are  Jews,  and  that  they  are  to  appear 
at  the  time  of  anti-Christ,  and  do  great  harm  to  believers. 
Hear  Mandeville  on  the  subject,  whose  old  language  adds 
to  the  look  of  seriousness  and  mystery :  "  Among  thes 
hillis  that  be  there,"  quoth  the  knight,  "  be  the  Jews  of  the 
ix.  kyndes  enclosed,  that  men  call  Gog  and  Magog,  and 
they  may  not  come  out  on  no  syde.  Here  were  enclosed 
xxii.  kynges,  with  her  folke  that  dwellyd  ther  before,  and 
between  the  hilles  of  Sichy  (Scythae  ?  Scythians)  and  the 
kingdom  of  Alisaunder.  He  droffe  hem  theder  among 
thes  hillis,  for  he  trowed  for  to  have  enclosyd  hem  there 
thourgh  strength  and  worckyng  of  mannys  hond,  but  he 
myght  not.  And  than  he  prayed  God  that  he  wold  fullfill 
that  he  had  begon,  and  God  hard  his  prayer,  and  enclosyd 
thes  hillis  togedyr,  so  that  the  Jews  dwell  there  as  they 
were  lokyd  and  speryd  inne  (sparred,  i.e.  shut  up) ;  and 
there  be  hillis  all  abought  hem  but  on  one  syde.     Why  ne 


*  It  is  a  whim  of  the  Eastern  nations,  when  names  are  familiarly  coupled 
m  history,  to  make  them  rhyme.  Thus,  Cain  and  Abel,  are  Cabil  and  Ha- 
bil ;  and  there  are  several  other  instances,  but  we  have  not  time  to  look  for 
them.  If  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  had  written  among  them,  they  would  have 
tried  hard  to  call  them  Beaumont  and  Fleaumont. 


254  GOG   AND    MAGOG,    AND 

go  they  not  out  ?  seist  thou.  But  therto  I  answer,  thou 
yt  be  soo  that  yt  be  called  a  cee,  yt  ys  a  stanke  (standing 
water)  stonding  among  hillis.  And  yt  ys  the  greatest  stanke 
of  all  the  world,  and  yf  they  went  over  the  cee,  they  wot 
not  where  to  aryve,  for  they  wot  not  to  speke  but  her  owne 
langage  ;  and  ye  shall  (knowe)  that  the  Jues  have  no  lond 
of  her  owne  in  all  the  worlde,  but  they  that  dwellen  in  the 
hillis,  and  yet  they  bere  tribute  to  the  quene  of  Ermony. 
And  sometyme  yt  ys  soo  that  some  Jewes  gon  on  the  hill, 
but  they  mey  not  passe,  for  thes  hillis  be  so  heigh  ;  never- 
thelesse  men  seye  of  that  cuntre  ther  bye,  that  in  the  tyme 
of  Antecriste  they  shall  comen  out,  and  do  moch  yll  herme 
to  Cristen  men.  And  therefore  all  the  Jewes  that  dwellen  in 
dyvers  partise  of  the  world  lern  to  speke  Ebrewe,  for  they 
trowe  that  dwell  amonge  thes  hillis  schall  com  out,  and  (if) 
they  speke  Ebrewe  and  not  ellis.  And  in  tyme  of  Antecriste 
shall  thyse  Jewes  comen  out  and  speke  Ebrewe,  and  leden 
other  Jewes  into  Cristendom  for  to  destroy  Cristenmen  ;  for 
they  wotte  be  her  prophecies  that  they  shall  com  out  of 
Cristenmen,  shall  be  in  her  subieccion,  as  they  be  now 
under  Cristenmen.  An  yf  ye  will  wit  howe  they  shall 
com  and  fynd  passage  out  as  I  have  hard  saye,  I  schall 
tell  you.  At  the  comynge  of  Antecrist,  a  fox  schall  com 
and  make  his  den  in  the  sam  place  where  that  kyng  Alis- 
aunder  ded  make  the  gattes,  and  schall  travaille  so  on  the 
erth  and  perce  yt  thorowe  till  that  he  com  among  the  Jewes  ; 
and  whan  they  see  thys  fox,  they  schall  have  great  marwell 
of  hym,  for  they  seye  never  such  maner  of  bestes,  for 
other  bestes  they  have  amonge  hem  many,  but  non  such  ; 
and  they  schall  chese  the  fox,  and  pursue  him  till  he  be 
fled  agen  to  the  hole  ther  he  cam  out  of;  and  than  schall 
they  grave  after  hym  tyll  the  time  they  com  to  the  gates  that 
kyng  Alisaunder  dyde  make  of  gret  stonys  will  dight  with 


THE    WALL    OF    DHOULKARNEIN.  255 

symend  (cement) ;  and  they  schall  brek  thes  gates,  and 
so  schall  they  fynd  issue."  * 

The  story  of  the  fox  is  idle  enough  ;  but  in  the  Pecorone 
of  Sir  Giovanni  Fiorentino,  quoted  by  the  same  authority, 
is  a  version  of  this  story,  in  which  a  very  romantic  ma- 
noeuvre of  Alexander  is  mentioned.  In  order  to  keep  his 
captives  in  subjection,  "  he  fixed  a  number  of  trumpets  on 
the  top  of  the  mountains,  so  cunningly  framed  that  they 
resounded  in  every  breeze.  In  the  course  of  time  certain 
birds  built  their  nests  in  the  mouths  of  the  trumpets,  and 
stopped  them  up,  so  that  the  clangour  gradually  lessened. 
And  when  the  trumpets  were  quite  silent,  the  Jews  ven- 
tured to  climb  over  the  mountains,  and  sallied  forth." 

It  is  curious  to  fancy  the  imprisoned  nation  listening 
year  after  year,  and  finding  the  sound  of  Alexander's 
dreadful  trumpets  grow  less  and  less,  till  at  length  they  are 
"  silent."  What  has  happened  ?  Is  the  king  dead  ?  Have 
his  army  grown  less  and  less,  or  feebler  and  feebler,  so  as 
to  be  unable  to  blow  them  ?  Are  they  all  dead  ?  Let 
us  go  and  see.  And  forth  they  go,  but  cautiously  —  climb- 
ing the  mountains  with  due  care,  and  many  listening 
delays.  At  length  they  arrive  at  the  top,  and  see  nobody 
—  only  those  mighty  scarecrows  of  trumpets,  their  throats 
stuffed  up  with  the  nests  of  birds  !  f 

In  these  traditions  there  is  a  confusion  common  in  the 
East  of  Alexander  of  Macedon,  called  by  the  Orientals 


*  Quoted  by  Mr.  Weber  in  the  notes  to  his  "  Metrical  Romances,"  vol.  iii. 
p.  323.  It  has  long  been  supposed  that  the  Jews  had  a  national  settlement  some- 
where about  this  quarter.  See  D'Herbelot,  "  Bibliotheque  Orientale,"  art. 
Jahoud;  and  the  late  English  travellers,  particularly  Elphinstone  in  his 
"  Account  of  Caubul." 

t  Leigh  Hunt  tells  this  story  more  minutely  in  his  fine  poem  entitled  The 
Trumpets  of  Doolkarntin-  —  Ed. 


256  GOG   AND    MAGOG,   AND 

Dhoulkarnein,  or  Zulkarnein  (that  is  to  say,  the  Two- 
horned,  or  Lord  of  the  East  and  West),  with  another  Dhoul- 
karnein, who  lived  before  the  time  of  Abraham,  and  is  styled 
Dhoulkarnein  the  Greater.  Powerful  as  they  think  the 
former,  the  latter  was  still  more  so ;  and  was,  besides,  a 
prophet.  He  was  a  Mussulman  by  anticipation  ;  and  lived 
sixteen  hundred  years.  It  is  supposed,  however,  that  the 
Greek  Alexander  is  both  Dhoulkarneins  inclusive ;  and 
that  in  consequence  of  the  figure  he  made  in  the  East,  he 
threw  that  mightier  shadow  of  his  greatness  upon  the 
mists  of  antiquity. 

The  essay  towards  the  history  of  Old  Arabia,  by  Major 
Price,  contains  a  summary  of  this  Dhoulkarnein's  adven- 
tures with  Gog  and  Magog,  taken  out  of  an  Eastern  his- 
torian, and  containing  the  best  account  hitherto  given  of  this 
awful  people.  The  following  is  the  amount  of  it :  Among 
the  children  of  Japhet  was  one  of  the  name  of  Mensheje, 
or  Meshech,  who  was  the  father  of  two  sons  called  Yajouje 
and  Majouje.  From  these  descended  a  progeny  so  numer- 
ous, that,  according  to  Abdullah,  the  son  of  Omar,  if  the 
inhabitants  of  the  whole  earth  were  divided  into  ten  equal 
parts,  nine  out  of  the  ten  would  be  found  to  consist  of  the 
Yajouje-Majouje.  They  were  so  long-lived,  that  no  one 
died  till  he  had  seen  a  thousand  descendants  of  his  body ; 
and  as  to  their  stature,  the  race  might  be  divided  into  three 
classes,  —  the  Kelim-goush,  or  cloth-eared,  only  four  cu- 
bits big  ;  the  class  a  hundred  and  twenty  cubits  in  height ; 
and  the  class  who  were  a  hundred  and  twenty  cubits  both 
in  height  and  breadth.  Had  there  been  any  more,  we  sup- 
pose that  they  would  have  been  measured  by  the  square 
mile.  They  were  of  enormous  strength ;  and,  though 
their  ordinary  food  was  the  wild  mulberry,  were  eaters  of 
men.      Agreeably  to  these  bodily  symptoms,  they  lived 


THE   WALL   OF   DHOULKARNEIN.  257 

without  a  god,  government,  or  good  manners  ;  and  made 
horrible  visitations  in  the  countries  about  them,  who  lived 
in  constant  dread  of  their  enormities. 

Dhoulkarnein,  in  the  course  of  an  expedition  which  he 
took  to  survey  all  the  countries  of  the  earth,  arrived  at  a 
territory  bordering  on  these  people,  and  was  met  with  great 
reverence  by  the  king  of  it,  who,  after  becoming  a  convert 
to  the  hero's  faith,  begged  his  assistance  against  his  dread- 
ful neighbors.  The  two-horned  gave  his  consent,  but  it 
appears  that  even  he  had  no  expectation  of  being  able  to 
conquer  them,  for  he  did  not  attempt  it.  He  contented 
himself  with  building  a  mighty  wall,  called  by  the  Eastern 
historian  sedde-Zulkarnein,  or  bulwark  of  Zulkarnein  ;  the 
remains  of  which  are  supposed  to  exist  in  certain  ruins 
still  visible,  near  the  city  of  Derbent,  on  the  Caspian. 
This  wall  fills  the  imagination  almost  as  much  as  the  race 
whom  it  was  built  to  keep  out ;  and  the  details  of  its  con- 
struction are  worth  repeating.  The  monarch  commenced 
by  causing  an  immense  ditch  to  be  excavated  between  the 
two  mountains  through  which  the  Yajouje-Majouje  were 
accustomed  to  pass.  He  then  filled  up  the  ditch  with 
enormous  masses  of  granite,  by  way  of  foundation  ;  and 
upon  these  (though  we  are  not  told  how  he  contrived  it) 
he  heaped  huge  blocks  of  iron,  copper,  and  other  metals, 
in  alternate  layers  like  brick ;  the  whole  of  which  being 
put  in  a  state  of  fusion  by  great  fires,  became,  when  cooled, 
one  solid  bulwark  of  metal,  stretching  from  side  to  side, 
and  on  a  level  with  the  mountains.  "  On  the  top  of  all," 
says  our  author,  — 

{Hiatus  valde  deflendus  I  —  We  had  made  a  memoran- 
dum of  this  passage  some  time  ago,  and  cannot  on  the 
sudden  again  meet  with  the  book,  not  even  in  the  British 
Museum.] 

17 


258  GOG   AND   MAGOG,   AND 

The  length  of  the  wall  was  "  one  hundred  and  fifty  para- 
sangs,  or  five  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles  ;  its  breadth 
fifty  miles ;  and  its  height  two  thousand  eight  hundred 
cubits,  or  about  the  height  of  Ben  Nevis." 

There  is  no  doubt  that  an  important  barrier  of  some 
kind  existed  in  the  defiles  of  Caucasus,  on  the  Caspian ; 
there  are  considerable  remains  of  one.  According  to 
some,  Nouschirvan,  King  of  Persia,  a  prince  of  the  dynasty 
of  the  Sassanides,  had  the  honor  of  completing  what  Alex- 
ander began.  Others  have  suspected,  that  by  the  account 
of  its  magnitude  the  wall  of  China  must  have  been  meant. 
But  these  questions,  into  which  our  hankering  after  the 
truth  is  continually  leading  us,  are  not  necessary  to  that 
other  truth  of  fable.  The  wall  may  or  may  not  be  a  truth 
historical ;  Gog  and  Magog  are  a  fine  towering  piece  of 
old  history  fabulous. 

In  D'Herbelot,  *  is  an  account  of  a  Journey  of  Discov- 
ery made  by  order  of  a  caliph  of  the  house  of  the  Abba- 
sides,  to  inquire  into  this  structure.  With  the  exception 
of  a  story  of  a  mermaid,  which  we  have  transferred  to  its 
proper  place,  Warton  gives  a  better  account  in  his  "  His- 
tory of  English  Poetry."  f  We  have  taken  the  best  cir- 
cumstances from  both,  and  proceed  to  lay  the  result  before 
the  reader. 

About  the  year  808,  the  caliph  Al  Amin,  having  heard 
wonderful  reports  concerning  this  wall  or  barrier,  sent  his 
interpreter  Salam,  with  an  escort  of  fifty  men,  to  view  it. 
Salam  took  the  route  of  Nouschirvan,  or  Northern  Media, 
in  which  Filan-Schah  reigned  at  that  time.     From  Nous- 


*  Art.  "  Jagiouge  et  Magiouge,"  torn.  iii.  p.  270. 

t  Vol.  i.  "Dissertation  I."    (Quoted  by  Weber  in  the  notes  to  his  "Met- 
rical Romances,"  vol.  iii.  p.  325.) 


THE   WALL    OF   DHOULKARNEIN.  259 

chirvan  he  passed  into  the  territory  of  the  Alani,  and 
thence  into  the  district  of  the  lord  of  the  marches,  who 
dwelt  in  the  city  of  Derbent,  and  whose  title  was  Lord  of 
the  Golden  Throne.  For  the  extraordinary  fish  which  he 
caught  in  company  with  their  ruler,  see  the  article  upon 
"  Sirens  and  Mermaids." 

The  Lord  of  the  Golden  Throne  furnished  our  travellers 
with  guides  to  conduct  them  farther  north,  into  which 
quarter,  having  marched  twenty-six  days,  they  arrived  at 
a  land  which  emitted  a  fearful  odor.  They  beheld,  as  they 
went,  many  cities  destroyed  by  the  Yajouje-Majouje,  and 
in  six  days  arrived  at  that  part  of  the  mountains  of  Cau- 
casus, in  which  was  the  stronghold,  enclosing  those  cap- 
tives of  Dhoulkarnein.  They  saw  the  tops  of  the  fortress 
long  before  they  reached  it.  On  coming  up,  it  was  found 
to  consist  partly  of  iron  and  partly  of  a  huge  mountain,  in 
an  opening  in  which  stood  the  gate,  of  enormous  magni- 
tude. This  gate  was  supported  by  vast  buttresses,  and 
had  an  iron  bulwark,  with  turrets  of  the  same  metal,  reach- 
ing to  the  top  of  the  mountain  itself,  which  was  too  high 
to  be  seen.  The  valves,  lintels,  threshold,  lock  and  key, 
were  all  of  proportionate  magnitude.  The  governor  of 
certain  places  in  the  neighborhood  comes  to  this  castle 
once  every  week,  with  an  escort  of  ten  men  all  mounted 
on  horseback,  and  striking  it  three  times  with  a  great 
hammer,  lays  his  ear  to  the  door  and  listens.  A  murmur- 
ing noise  comes  from  within,  which  is  the  noise  of  the 
Ybjouje-Mdjouje.  Salam  was  told,  that  they  often  ap- 
peared on  the  battlements  of  the  bulwark. 

Do  you  not  fancy,  reader,  that  you  take  a  journey  to 
that  awful  place,  and  that  after  waiting  there  a  long  time 
you  behold  some  of  them  looking  over  —  huge,  black- 
headed  giants,  looking  down  upon  you  with  a  shadow, 
and  making  you  hold  your  breath  ? 


260         AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND    FABULOUS. 


AERONAUTICS,   REAL  AND   FABULOUS. 

HE  balloon,  by  the  help  of  fashionable  encour- 
agement and  the  intrepid  frequency  of  the 
ascents  of  Messrs.  and  Mesdames  Green  and 
Graham,  appears  to  be  again  hovering  on  the 
borders  of  a  little  improvement.  There  is  a 
talk  of  its  being  made  use  of  for  the  purpose  of  survey- 
ing land.  The  only  practical  account  it  was  ever  turned  to, 
was  of  this  sort  —  a  survey  of  the  field  of  battle  at  Fleu- 
rus  ;  where  the  French  prevented  a  surprise  by  means 
of  it.  Ascents  have  been  made,  indeed,  for  scientific  ex- 
periments, but  not  with  any  particular  result. 

Should  you  like,  dear  reader,  to  go  up  in  a  balloon  ? 
Some  readers.     Very  much  indeed. 
Others.     Can't  exactly  say.     Must  reflect  a  little. 
If  these  latter  wish  to  have  a  friend  to  stand  by  them  in 
their  hesitation,  I,  for  one,  must  own  myself  of  the  same 
mind.     It  would  take  much  to  make  me  undergo  so  prac- 
tical a  lift  to  the  imagination.  I  can  imagine  it,  "  methinks," 
well  enough  as  I  am,  —  on  terra  firma. 

"  Suave  Vauxhall  Gardens,  turbantibus  asthera  throatis, 
E  terra  magnum  alterius  spectare  balloonem." 

"  'Tis  sweet,  when  at  Vauxhall  throats  tear  the  skies, 
To  see  in  his  balloon  another  rise." 

I  cannot  withhold  my  admiration  from  those  who  go  up  ; 
otherwise,  perhaps,  to  spite  them  for  my  sense  of  the  ad- 
vantage they  have  over  me,  I  would ;  nor  can  I  say  how 
immense  my  own  valor  might  become,  and  how  inde- 
pendent of  the  necessity  for  some  prodigious  cause  or 


AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND    FABULOUS.         26l 

principle,  if,  instead  of  these  sedentary  turnings  of  para- 
graphs, I  could  grow  young  again,  and  go  through  a  course 
of  horseback,  felicity,  and  the  Fives'  Court.  But  mean- 
time, as  a  king  of  Naples  once,  climbing  up  a  tree,  told 
the  courtiers  who  assisted  him  that  he  "found  he  had  an 
antipathy  to  the  buffalo  ;  "  so  I  find  my  antipathy  is  to 
height.  I  could  shudder  now,  this  moment,  to  recollect, 
that  when  I  was  a  youth  I  once  walked  to  the  edge  of 
Shakespeare's  Cliff  (higher  then  than  at  present),  and 
looked  over ;  though  even  then  I  was  fain  to  stretch  my- 
self along  the  ground,  while  the  friend  who  was  with  me 
nobly  kept  his  legs.  I  should  have  more  respect  for  this 
infirmity,  if  I  could  persuade  myself  that  it  was  unavoida- 
ble by  the  imaginative  ;  but  Rousseau  was  famous  for  his 
love  of  these  altitudes  ;  nor  is  the  reverse  courage  to  be 
attributed  to  a  destitution  of  thought  for  others  :  for  the 
late  admirable  writer  and  most  kind  human  being,  Charles 
Lamb,  one  of  the  most  considerate  of  kinsmen,  and  highly 
imaginative  also  in  his  way,  could  run  (as  he  once  actually 
did)  along  the  top  of  a  high  parapet  wall  in  the  Temple,  — 
so  much  to  the  terror  of  Hazlitt,  that  the  latter  cried  out, 
in  a  sort  of  rage  and  cruel  transport  of  sympathy,  "  Lamb, 
if  you  don't  come  down,  I  shall  push  you  over."  On  the 
other  hand,  that  I  may  not  be  supposed  to  be  indulging 
myself  in  the  lowest  of  all  egotisms,  that  of  parading  a 
weakness,  or  the  want  of  some  common  quality,  I  beg 
leave  to  say,  that  I  trust  I  could  do  any  sort  of  duty,  if 
required  of  me,  as  well  as  most  men,  even  to  the  walking 
on  the  edge  of  a  precipice  ;  though  I  should  beg  leave  to  be 
permitted  to  do  it  with  a  pale  face.  I  should  want  that 
sort  of  courage,  which  removes  peril  by  feeling  none ; 
and  which,  when  it  does  not  arise  from  having  no  thought 
at  all  (though  the  last  instance  forms  a  perplexing  ex- 


262         AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND   FABULOUS. 

ception),  seems  to  originate  in  some  exquisite,  healthy 
balancing  of  the  faculties,  bodily  and  mental ;  —  a  thing 
admirable,  and  which  I  envy  to  the  last  degree.  I  some- 
times fancy  I  have  it,  when  I  have  been  taking  vigorous 
exercise  ;  but  the  emotion  of  a  single  morning's  work  over 
my  writing-table  puts  it  to  flight.  I  attribute  the  change 
in  myself  (with  regard  to  the  power  of  enduring  height), 
to  a  long  illness  I  had,  during  which,  happening  to  read 
of  a  similar  infirmity,  the  impression  it  made  upon  me,  when 
I  again  looked  down  from  a  high  place,  was  tremendous  ; 
and  I  have  never  since  been  able  to  avoid  thinking  of  it, 
on  the  like  occasions.  When  I  was  in  Italy,  I  tried  to 
get  rid  of  it  by  pedestrian  experiments  on  mountainous 
places,  upon  Alps  and  Apennines  ;  but  it  would  not  do. 
I  only  mortified  myself  to  no  purpose.  (I  find  I  am  get- 
ting egotistical,  after  all ;  and  must  beg  the  reader  to  ex- 
cuse me.  I  would  gladly  hear  as  much  about  himself,  or 
from  any  man.) 

Hail  then,  gallant  Greens  and  Grahams !  and  gallant 
Captain  Currie  !  and  thou,  Marquis  of  Clanricarde,  worthy 
of  thine  ancestry  !  It  is  not  easy  to  know  how  far  mind 
and  matter  are  duly  mixed  up  in  any  given  aeronaut ;  but 
the  gallant  Marquis,  issuing  from  his  house  of  legisla- 
tion, where  he  has  speech  as  well  as  a  voice,  taketh  me 
mightily ;  and  though  captains  are  bound  by  office  to  be 
both  gallant  and  gallant,  it  is  not  every  one  of  them  that 
would  have  the  poetical  enthusiasm  to  exclaim,  when  up 
in  the  clouds,  "  Oh,  Mrs.  Graham  !  let  us  never  return  to 
earth  /  "  We,  envious  fixtures  to  the  ground,  may  smile 
at  the  exclamation  ;  but  the  critic  who  thought  he  was 
bantering  it  the  other  day  in  the  newspapers,  felt  himself 
in  his  candor  obliged  to  give  up  the  laugh,  and  allow  that 
the  occasion  justified  the  outbreak.     I  confess,  I  think  the 


AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND    FABULOUS.         263 

Captain  could  not  have  said  a  better  thing.  On  all  occa- 
sions there  is  some  one  thing  to  be  said  which  is  better 
than  all  others ;  and  this  appears  to  me  to  have  been 
the  very  one  for  the  present  It  combines  the  smile  of 
pleasantry  with  the  seriousness  of  a  deep  feeling.  The 
clouds  were  looking  gorgeous  ;  the  scene  was  new  and 
heavenly;  the  world,  with  all  its  cares,  was  under  their 
feet ;  the  thought  naturally  arose,  "  Why  cannot  we  quit  all 
care,  and  live  in  some  new  and  heavenly  place,  such  as 
this  seems  to  lead  to  ?  Let  us  do  it :  —  let  us  "  never 
return  to  earth." 

On  turning  to  the  narrative,  I  find  the  words  to  be  still 
better  put,  —  with  more  of  will  in  them,  justified  by  the 
excess  of  beauty :  "  The  range  of  clouds,"  Mrs.  Graham 
tells  us,  were  at  this  minute  "  forming  an  indescribable 
extensive  circle  around,  in  one  part  resembling  the  im- 
mense ocean,  the  darker  clouds  having  the  appearance  of 
snow-clad  mountains,  the  tops  of  which  looked  like  frosted 
silver,  from  the  effects  of  the  glorious  beams  of  the  great 
luminary  of  the  day."  Captain  Currie  was  so  delighted 
with  the  grandeur  of  the  scene,  that  in  the  moment  of 
ecstasy,  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  Oh  !  how  awfully  beauti- 
ful —  how  enchanting  !  —  Oh,  Mrs.  Graham !  we  will  never 
return  to  the  earth  again  /  "     He  had  made  up  his  mind. 

They  had  at  this  time  "  obtained  an  altitude  of  above 
three  miles  and  a  half,  having  surmounted  the  highest 
strata  of  clouds."  What  a  place  for  two  human  beings  to 
find  themselves  in,  looking  upon  sights  never  beheld  but 
by  the  sun  and  moon,  and  by  eyes  spiritual !  Who  is  to 
wonder  at  any  enthusiasm  excited  by  them  ?  It  seems  to 
me  that  if  I  had  been  there  I  should  have  felt  as  if  I  had 
no  business  in  such  a  region  till  disembodied ;  life  and 
death  would  have  seemed  to  meet  together,  and  their 


264         AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND   FABULOUS. 

united  wonders  oppressed  me  beyond  endurance.  But 
there  is  no  knowing.  Imagination  itself  familiarizes  us  to 
spectacles  of  things  which  are  too  much  for  the  mechan- 
ical. It  is  the  body  which  is  in  fault  when  the  mind  is 
overborne  in  its  own  business.  Again,  I  like  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham's committal  of  herself  about  Pope.  The  scene,  she 
says,  was  one  which,  she  is  "  convinced,  would  have  given 
an  energetic  impetus  to  the  ideas  of  the  immortal  Pope 
himself,  to  have  given  an  adequate  description."  She 
betrays,  to  be  sure,  the  extent  of  her  reading ;  and  though 
Pope  is  an  immortal,  one  is  accustomed  to  confine  the  epithet 
to  immortals  greater  than  he  ;  but  what  could  she  do  bet- 
ter than  resort  to  the  utmost  limits  of  her  book-knowledge, 
to  show  the  height  of  her  sensations  ?  Poetry  itself  may 
be  glad  of  any  compliment  paid  it,  at  an  elevation  of  three 
miles  and  a  half  above  terra  firma  ! 

It  is  not  improbable  that  they  who  feel  apprehensive  at 
the  idea  of  ascending  in  a  balloon,  would  feel  less  so  when 
fairly  up  in  the  air,  especially  at  a  great  height.  There  is 
something  in  the  air  itself  at  those  altitudes,  which  sup- 
ports and  delights.  I  remember  I  used  to  have  less  of 
the  feeling  I  have  been  speaking  of,  when  standing  on 
the  greatest  mountainous  precipices,  than  on  the  top  of  a 
house.  I  have  looked  from  a  platform  of  the  maritime 
Apennines,  down  upon  the  Gulf  of  Genoa,  where  the 
towns  on  the  opposite  coast  appeared  like  toys  in  a  shop- 
window,  at  a  less  distance  from  the  edge  of  the  mountain 
than  I  could  have  borne  at  a  far  less  elevation.  Extremes 
meet.  It  seemed  so  idle  to  contest  a  point,  or  to  have  a 
will  not -in  unison  with  so  many  thousand  feet,  that  the 
counter  idea  itself  mitigated  the  fascination  of  its  terror. 
Besides,  there  is  a  tendency  in  the  pure  air  to  put  the 
bodily  feelings  into  a  state  of  tranquillity.    It  seemed  as  if 


AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND   FABULOUS.         265 

the  great,  good-natured  elements  themselves  would  have 
supported  me. 

"  Ve  gentle  gales,  upon  my  body  blow, 
And  softly  lay  me  on  the  waves  below." 

Perhaps  they  might  really  do  so  if  one  had  a  good  cloak 
on,  or  some  such  expanding  piece  of  drapery !  There 
was  a  marvellous  paragraph  the  other  day  in  the  news- 
papers, stating  that  a  young  lady  at  Odessa  had  ascended 
in  a  balloon  made  of  paper,  which  burst  at  a  great  height, 
and  dismissed  her  to  the  earth,  where  she  landed,  never- 
theless, in  safety  !  The  winds  must  have  been  conven- 
iently opposed  to  her,  and  her  garments  have  formed  an 
extempore  parachute,  after  the  fashion  of  the  hoop-petticoat 
described  in  the  "  Spectator."  But  does  it  not  seem  a 
shame  for  men  to  have  a  thought  of  danger,  while  ladies 
can  go  up  in  paper  balloons,  or  in  any  balloons  at  all  ?  One 
is  forced,  in  self-defence,  to  conclude  that  these  fair  aerial 
voyagers  cannot,  at  all  events,  superabound  in  imagina- 
tion. They  would  hardly  irritate  a  perverse  husband  with 
an  excess  of  the  gentle.  Not  that  they  may  not  be  very 
good-humored  either,  nor  are  they  bound  to  be  masculine 
in  an  ill  sense.  The  truth  is,  they  stand  a  chance  of  being 
either  very  pleasant  or  very  unpleasant  people  —  pleasant, 
if  their  courage  arises  from  good  health,  or  confidence  in 
science,  and  a  willingness  to  go  where  their  husbands  go, 
and  the  reverse,  in  all  conscience,  if  it  be  sheer  want  of 
fancy  and  abundance  of  will.  I  confess,  if  I  were  seeking 
a  wife,  that,  on  the  face  of  the  matter,  I  should  not  be  de- 
sirous to  fetch  — 

"  E'en  from  the  golden  chariot  of  balloon, 
A  fearless  dame,  who  touch'd  a  golden  fee ; " 

and  yet  circumstances  might  render  even  that  circum- 


266         AERONAUTICS,  REAL   AND    FABULOUS. 

stance  a  touching  proof  of  her  womanhood  ;  and  I  might 
fare  worse,  on  the  score  of  the  truly  feminine,  with  a 
screamer  at  a  frog. 

Poets  go  up  in  the  air  without  balloons,  and  arrive  at 
sensations  which  others  must  ascend  in  actual  cars  to 
experience.  The  Psalmist  takes  "  the  wings  of  the  morn- 
ing," (how  beautiful ! )  and  remains  "  in  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  sea."  Goethe  heard  the  sun  rolling  in  thun- 
der round  the  throne  of  God,  and  young  Milton  anticipated 
the  grandeurs  of  his  epic  poem,  and  saw  the  thunders 
themselves  lying  in  cloudy  piles  and  mountains  of  sullen 
snow.  Milton,  in  his  nineteenth  year,  seems  to  have 
meditated  a  poem  on  some  aerial  subject,  like  the  "  Ex- 
tasy,"  subsequently  published  by  his  contemporary  Cow- 
ley, whom  he  is  known  to  have  highly  admired  in  spite  of 
his  conceits.  There  is  even  a  dash  of  Cowley's  mixture 
of  great  and  little  things  (the  taste  of  the  day)  in  the  fol- 
lowing lines,  which,  however,  are  a  true  announcement  of 
the  future  Milton  :  — 

"  I  have  some  naked  thoughts  that  rove  about, 
And  loudly  knock  to  have  their  passage  out ; 
And,  weary  of  their  place,  do  only  stay 
Till  thou  hast  deck'd  them  in  thy  best  array  ; 
That  so  they  may,  without  suspect  of  fears, 
Fly  swiftly  to  this  fair  assembly's  ears. 
Yet  I  had  rather,  if  I  were  to  choose, 
Thy  service  in  some  graver  subject  use ; 
Such  as  may  make  thee  search  thy  coffers  round, 
Before  thou  clothe  my  fancy  in  fit  sound  ; 
Such  where  the  deep  transported  mind  may  soar 
Above  the  -wheeling poles,  and  at  /leaven's  door 
Look  in" 

(How  well  pitched  is  the  pause  here  !) 

"  and  see  each  blissful  deity, 
How  he  be/ore  the  thunderous  throne  does  lie, 


AERONAUTICS,  REAL   AND   FABULOUS.         267 

Listening  to  what  unshorn  Apollo  sings 

To  the  touch  0/  golden  wires,  while  Hebe  brings 

Immortal  nectar  to  her  kingly  sire  ; 

Then  passing  through  the  spheres  of  watchful  fire, 

And  misty  regions  of  wide  air  next  under, 

And  hills  of  snow,  and  lofts  of  piled  thunder, 

May  tell  at  length  how  green-eyed  Neptune  raves, 

In  heaven's  defiance  mustering  all  his  waves." 

Cowley's  "  Extasy  "  is  a  very  curious  poem,  provoking 
for  its  excessive  mixture  of  mean  and  grand  ideas.  Had 
Cowley  and  Milton,  instead  of  being  kept  apart  by  differ- 
ence of  political  opinion,  had  the  luck  to  become  friends, 
they  might  have  done  one  another  great  service.  Milton 
might  have  saved  Cowley's  taste  from  the  homely  draw- 
backs to  which  good  nature  rendered  it  liable,  and  the 
highly  rational  amiableness  of  Cowley's  heart  might  have 
softened  the  sternness  of  Milton,  and  saved  it  from  de- 
generating into  puritanical  sourness.  The  opening  of  this 
poem  might  serve  for  an  aeronaut  when  quitting  the 
ground ;  but  how  ludicrous  is  the  misplaced  waiving  of 
ceremony  in  the  second  line,  especially  after  the  mighty 
universality  of  the  first !  — 

"  I  leave  mortality  and  things  below ; 
/  have  no  time  in  compliments  to  waste  ; 
Farewell  to  ye  all  in  haste, 
For  I  am  call'd  to  go. 
A  whirlwind  bears  up  my  dull  feet, 
Th'  officious  clouds  beneath  them  meet ; 
And  lo  !  I  mount,  and  lo  ! 
How  small  the  biggest  parts  of  earth's  proud  title  show  1 

"  Where  shall  I  find  the  noble  British  land  ? 
Lo  I  I  at  last  a  northern  speckespy, 
Which  in  the  sea  does  lie, 
And  seems  a  grain  o'  the  sand  1 
For  this  will  any  sin  or  bleed  ? 
Of  civil  wars  is  this  the  meed  ? 
And  is  it  this,  alas  !  which  we  —  " 


268         AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND    FABULOUS. 

(Here  comes  a  fine  line), 

"  Oh,  irony  of  words  !  —  do  call  Great  Britannie?" 

He  then  seems  to  be  imitating  the  lines  of  his  contempo- 
rary, but  in  a  very  inferior  strain.  The  third  and  fourth 
lines  are  in  laughably  bad  taste :  — 

"  I  pass  by  th'  arched  magazines  which  hold 
Th'  eternal  stores  of  frost,  and  rain,  and  snow ; 
Dry  and  secure  I  go, 
Nor  shake  with  fear  or  cold. 
Without  affright  or  wonder, 
I  meet  clouds  charg'd  with  thunder ; 
And  lightnings  on  my  way, 
Like  harmless  lambent  fires,  about  my  temples  play." 

I  pass  two  stanzas  to  come  to  a  most  noble  line  — 

"  Where  am  I  now  ?    Angels  and  God  is  here." 

I  know  nothing  finer  than  the  use  of  this  word  is  instead 
of  are,  making  the  idea  of  the  presence  of  God  swallow  up 
that  of  the  angels,  and  yet  leaving  a  sense  of  them  too.  It 
is  a  feeling  of  this  sort,  which  appears  to  me  as  if  it  would 
be  overwhelming,  up  in  that  unaccustomed  region  of 
silence  and  vastness.  This  transport,  in  spite  of  some 
quaintness  of  expression,  is  not  unworthily  followed  up  in 
the  succeeding  lines,  though  in  the  concluding  one  the 
poet  falls  plump  down  into  familiar  inanity  — 

"  Where  am  I  now?    Angels  and  God  is  here ; 
An  unexhausted  ocean  of  delight 
Swallows  my  senses  quite, 
And  drowns  all  what,  or  how,  or  where. 
Not  Paul,  who  first  did  thither  pass, 
And  this  great  world's  Columbus  was, 
The  tyrannous  pleasure  can  express. " 

That's  fine  ;  but  look  at  the  next ! 

"01  'tis  too  much  for  man  !  out  let  U  ne'er  be  less  1 1 " 


AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND    FABULOUS.         269 

The  next  stanza  is  worth  repeating,  if  only  for  the  excess- 
ive comedy  of  the  concluding  verse  :  — 

"  The  mighty  Elijah  mounted  so  on  high, 
That  second  man  who  leap'd  the  ditch  where  all 
The  rest  of  mankind  fall, 
And  went  not  downwards  to  the  sky. 
With  much  of  pomp  and  show 
(As  conqu'ring  kings  in  triumph  go) 
Did  he  to  heaven  approach ; 
A  nd  womProus  was  his  way,  and  wond'rous  was  his  coach  I ! " 

The  word  "  coach,"  it  must  be  confessed,  was  not  in  quite 
such  undignified  repute  then,  as  now ;  but  still  the  poet 
had  no  business  with  it.  He  proceeds,  however,  to  make 
good  his  words,  by  a  refinement  on  Ovid's  description  of 
Phaeton's :  — 

"  'Twas  gaudy  all,  and  rich  in  every  part : 
Of  essences,  and  gems,  and  spirit  of  gold,"  &c. 

There  is  something  not  so  bad  in  "spirit  of  gold  ;  "  but 
he  goes  on  to  tell  us  how  it  was  not  only  with  "moon- 
beams silver'd  bright,"  but 

"  Double-gilt  with  the  sun's  light ! " 

Enough,  however,  of  the  vagaries  of  dear,  noble-hearted, 
genial  Cowley,  who  was  among  the  Tories  what  Thomson 
was  among  the  Whigs  —  one  of  the  best  specimens  of 
hearty  British  nature,  and  only  liable  to  want  of  selectness 
in  his  taste,  because  he  had  a  love  for  every  thing.  My 
volume  of  Shelley  happens  to  be  lent  at  this  moment, 
otherwise  I  could  quote  some  fine  things  out  of  his  ethereal 
pages  ;  nor  am  I  lucky  enough  to  have  by  me  that  of  Mr. 
Southey,  in  which  he  gives  us  his  beautiful  fiction  of  the 
Glendoveer  with  his  heavenly  boat. 

Poetry  and  matter-of-fact  meet  oftener  than  is  supposed. 
The  first  hints  of  aerostation  may  be  truly  said  to  be  lost 


27O         AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND    FABULOUS. 

in  the  clouds  of  antiquity ;  but  real  and  fabulous  things  of 
all  kinds  are  naturally  so  confounded  in  those  obscure 
periods  of  time,  that  it  is  not  improbable  there  was  some 
foundation  in  fact  for  the  stories  of  Abaris,  Daedalus,  and 
others,  beyond  even  the  supposed  solution  of  the  difficul- 
ty by  means  of  a  ship.  Sciences  have  been  lost  and  re- 
covered. The  Chinese  had  been  in  possession,  for  many 
centuries,  of  inventions  supposed  to  be  original  to  Europe. 
Should  there  have  been  no  art  of  printing,  the  fact  of  the 
Channel's  having  been  crossed  by  men  in  balloons,  and  of 
the  fate  of  poor  Pilatre  de  Rozier,  might,  in  the  course 
of  time,  become  stories  of  no  greater  credibility  than  that 
of  Daedalus  and  his  son.  Immortal  poetry,  at  all  events, 
keeps  the  tradition  alive  in  some  shape  or  other,  not 
omitting  those  verisimilitudes  which  enable  all  stories,  real 
or  fabulous,  to  be  true  to  the -human  heart.  With  what 
pretty  pathos  does  Ovid  describe  little  Icarus  enjoying  his 
father's  manufacture  of  the  wings,  unconscious  of  the 
death  they  were  to  give  him  ! 

"  Puer  Icarus  una 
Stabat ;  et  ignarus  sua  se  tractare  pericla, 
Ore  renidenti,  modo  quas  vaga  moverat  aura 
Captabat  plumas ;  flavam  modo  pollice  ceram 
Mollibat ;  lusuque  suo  mirabile  patris 
Impediebat  opus."  Metam.  lib.  viii. 

"  Young  Icarus  stood  by,  who  little  thought 
That  with  his  death  he  play'd  ;  and,  smiling,  caught 
The  feathers,  tossed  by  the  wandering  air  ; 
Now  chafes  the  yellow  wax  with  busy  care, 
And  interrupts  his  sire. "  Sandys. 

"  But  for  men  to  flye  is  impossible  "  (says  this  fine  old 
translator  in  his  notes,  where  he  thinks  to  make  up  fot 
his  natural  credulity  by  an  occasional  peremptory  standing 
out  for  some  matter  of  fact) ;  "  although,"  continues  he, 


AERONAUTICS,    REAL    AND    FABULOUS.  271 

"  I  am  not  ignorant  that  the  like  is  reported  of  Simon 
Magus ;  which  others,  by  the  breaking  of  their  necks, 
have  as  miserably,  as  foolishly,  attempted.  Nero  exhibited 
this  spectacle  to  the  Romanes  in  their  amphitheater ;  the 
poor  youth  fell  not  far  from  his  throne,  whose  blood,  to 
upbraid  his  cruell  pastime,  besprinkled  his  garments." 
Contemporary  with  Sandys,  however,  arose  a  learned  di- 
vine, Bishop  Wilkins,  who  was  of  opinion  that  men  might 
not  only  fly,  but  fly  to  the  moon.  After  contending  for 
points  which  are  now  admitted  (such  as  that  the  moon  is 
a  separate  planet,  has  probably  sea  and  land,  &c),  and 
the  supposed  absurdity  of  which  at  former  periods  helps 
to  give  his  remaining  propositions  a  less  air  of  the  ridic- 
ulous, he  gives  the  three  following  answers  to  the  objec- 
tion as  to  ascending  above  the  sphere  of  the  earth's 
attraction :  — 

"  1.  It  is  not  perhaps  impossible,  that  a  man  may  be 
able  to  flye  by  the  application  of  wings  to  his  owne  body ; 
as  angels  are  pictured,  and  as  Mercury  and  Daedalus  are 
fained,  and  as  hath  been  attempted  by  divers,  particularly 
by  a  Turk  in  Constantinople,  as  Busbequius  relates. 
2.  If  there  be  such  a  great  Rock  in  Madagascar,  as 
Marcus  Polus  the  Venetian  mentions,  the  feathers  in 
whose  wings  are  twelve  foot  long,  which  can  swoope  up  a 
horse  and  his  rider,  or  an  elephant,  as  our  kites  doe  a 
mouse  ;  why,  then,  it  is  but  teaching  one  of  these  to  carry 
a  man,  and  he  may  ride  up  thither,  as  Ganymed  does 
upon  an  eagle.  3.  Or  if  neither  of  these  ways  will  serve, 
yet  I  doe  seriously,  and  upon  good  grounds,  affirm  it  pos- 
sible to  make  a  flying  chariot ;  in  which  a  man  may  sit, 
and  give  such  a  motion  into  it,  as  shall  convey  him  through 
the  aire.  And  this  perhaps  might  be  made  large  enough 
to  carry  divers  men  at  the  same  time,  together  with  food 


272         AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND    FABULOUS. 

for  their  viaticum,  and  commodities  for  traffique.  It  is 
not  the  bignesse  of  any  thing  in  this  kind,  that  can  hinder 
its  motion,  if  the  motive  faculty  be  answerable  thereunto. 
We  see  a  great  ship  swim  as  well  as  a  small  cork,  and  an 
eagle  flies  in  the  aire  as  well  as  a  little  gnat.  This  engine 
may  be  contrived  from  the  same  principles  by  which 
Archytas  made  a  wooden  dove,  and  Regiomontanus  a 
wooden  eagle.  I  conceive  it  were  no  difficult  matter  if  a 
man  had  leisure,  to  show  more  particularly  the  meanes 
of  composing  it.  The  perfecting  of  such  an  invention 
would  be  of  such  excellent  use,  that  it  were  enough,  not 
only  to  make  a  man,  but  the  age  also  wherein  he  lives. 
For  besides  the  strange  discoveries  that  it  might  occasion 
in  this  other  world,  it  would  be  also  of  inconceivable  ad- 
vantage for  travelling,  above  any  other  conveiance  that  is 
now  in  use.  So  that,  notwithstanding  all  these  seeming 
impossibilities,  'tis  likely  enough,  that  there  may  be  a 
meanes  invented  of  journeying  to  the  moone.  And  how 
happy  shall  they  be,  that  are  first  successful  in  this 
attempt  ? 

' '  Fcelicesque  animae,  quas  nubila  supra 
Et  turpes  fumos,  plenumque  vaporibus  orbem 
Inserit  Ccelo  sancti  scintilla  Promethei ! ' 

"  Having  thus  finished  this  discourse,  I  chanced  upon 
a  late  fancy  to  this  purpose,  under  the  feigned  name  of 
Domingo  Gonzales,  written  by  a  late  reverend  and  learned 
Bishop  (Godwin) ;  in  which  (besides  sundry  particulars, 
wherein  this  latter  chapter  did  unwittingly  agree  with  it) 
there  is  delivered  a  very  pleasant  and  well-contrived  fancy 
concerning  a  voyage  to  this  other  world."  * 

*  "  Biographical  Dictionary,"  art.  Wilkins. 

[Addison,  in  the  following  letter  from  a  projector,  quietly  satirizes  Wilkins 
and  his  brother  philosophers  in  the  art  of  flying :  — 


AERONAUTICS,  REAL  AND  FABULOUS.    273 

The  bishop,  however,  has  here  overlooked  the  still 
more  formidable  objection  as  to  the  power  of  breathing  at 
so  great  an  altitude.  He  seems  to  have  forgotten  that  a 
man  above  a  certain  limit  of  the  atmosphere  is  like  a  fish 
out  of  water.  I  have  not  his  book  at  hand  to  see  whether 
he  notices  this  dilemma ;  though,  doubtless,  he  would  get 


"  Knowing  that  you  are  a  great  encourager  of  ingenuity,  I  think  fit  to 
acquaint  you  that  I  have  made  considerable  progress  in  the  art  of  flying.  I 
flutter  about  my  room  two  or  three  hours  in  a  morning :  and  when  my  wings 
are  on,  can  go  above  a  hundred  yards  at  a  hop,  step,  and  jump.  I  can  fly  al- 
ready as  well  as  a  Turkey-cock,  and  improve  every  day.  If  I  proceed  as  I 
have  begun,  I  intend  to  give  the  world  a  proof  of  my  proficiency  in  this  art. 
Upon  the  next  public  thanksgiving  day,  it  is  my  design  to  sit  astride  the  dragon 
upon  Bow  steeple,  from  whence,  after  the  first  discharge  of  the  Tower  guns,  I 
intend  to  mount  into  the  air,  fly  over  Fleet-street,  and  pitch  upon  the  Maypole 
in  the  Strand.  From  ther.ce,  by  a  gradual  descent,  I  shall  make  the  best  of  my 
way  for  St.  James's  Park,  and  light  upon  the  ground  near  Rosamond's  pond. 
This,  I  doubt  not,  will  convince  the  world  that  I  am  no  pretender ;  but  before 
I  set  out,  I  shall  desire  to  have  a  patent  for  making  of  wings,  and  that  none 
shall  presume  to  fly,  under  pain  of  death,  with  wings  of  any  other  man's 
making.  I  intend  to  work  for  the  court  myself,  and  will  have  journeymen 
under  me  to  furnish  the  rest  of  the  nation.  I  likewise  desire  that  I  may  have 
the  sole  teaching  of  persons  of  quality,  in  which  I  shall  spare  neither  time  nor 
pains,  till  I  have  made  them  as  expert  as  myself.  I  will  fly  with  the  women 
on  my  back  for  the  first  fortnight.  I  shall  appear  at  the  masquerade,  dressed 
up  in  my  feathers  and  plumage  like  an  Indian  prince,  that  the  quality  may  see 
how  pretty  they  will  look  in  their  travelling  habits.  You  know,  Sir,  there  is  an 
unaccountable  prejudice  against  projectors  of  all  kinds;  for  which  reason, 
when  I  talk  of  practising  to  fly,  silly  people  think  me  an  owl  for  my  pains ; 
but,  Sir,  you  know  better  things.  I  need  not  enumerate  to  you  the  benefits 
which  will  accrue  to  the  public  from  this  invention  ;  as  how  much  the  roads  of 
England  will  be  saved  when  we  travel  through  these  new  highways,  and  how 
all  family  accounts  will  be  lessened  in  the  article  of  coaches  and  horses.  I 
need  not  mention  posts  and  packet-boats,  with  many  other  conveniences  of  life, 
which  will  be  supplied  this  way.  In  short,  Sir,  when  mankind  are  in  posses- 
sion of  this  art,  they  will  be  able  to  do  more  business  in  three-score  and  ten 
years,  than  they  could  do  in  a  thousand  by  the  methods  now  in  use.  I  there- 
fore recommend  myself  and  art  to  your  patronage,  and  am 

"Your  most  humble  servant."  —  Ed.] 
18 


274         AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND   FABULOUS. 

over  it  with  his  usual  vivacity.  It  is  not  a  little  that  can 
stop  a  man  who  has  taken  his  first  step  towards  the  moon. 
And  yet  the  banter  of  the  most  confident  of  us  may  be 
balked  by  observing  that,  two  years  after  the  publication 
of  this  book,  he  sent  forth  another,  "tending  to  prove 
that  it  is  probable  our  earth  is  one  of  the  planets."  The 
man  is  laughed  at  now  who  ventures  to  think  such  an 
established  tenet  improbable.  The  "  flying  chariot "  has 
been  realized  since  Wilkins's  time,  in  the  car  of  the  bal- 
loon ;  but  the  only  persons  that  have  succeeded  in  getting 
to  the  moon  are  Cyrano  de  Bergerac,  Domingo  Gonzales, 
and  Ariosto's  hero,  Astolfo. 

The  first  undoubted  succeeders  in  raising  a  man  into 
the  air,  and  enabling  him  to  continue  there,  were  the 
brothers  Stephen  and  Joseph  de  Montgolfier,  paper- 
makers  at  Lyons  :  the  first  person  who  so  rose,  but  in 
a  balloon  secured  to  the  earth  by  ropes,  was  M.  Pilatre 
de  Rozier ;  and  the  first  persons  who  quitted  the  earth 
entirely  were  the  same  De  Rozier  and  the  Marquis  d'Ar- 
landes.  They  went  up  together.  The  following  is  the 
interesting  firoces  verbal,  giving  an  account  of  this  ascent, 
and  signed,  among  others,  by  the  illustrious  Franklin,  who 
was  then  commissioner  in  France,  from  the  new  American 
government :  — 

"To-day,  Nov.  21,  1783,  at  the  Chateau  de  la  Muette, 
took  place  the  experiment  with  the  aerostatic  machine  of 
M.  de  Montgolfier.  The  sky  was  partly  clouded,  wind  N. 
W.  At  eight  minutes  after  noon,  a  mortar  gave  notice 
that  the  machine  was  about  to  be  filled.  In  eight  minutes, 
notwithstanding  the  wind,  it  was  ready  to  set  off",  the 
Marquis  d'Arlandes  and  M.  Pilatre  de  Rozier  being  in  the 
car.  It  was  at  first  intended  to  retain  the  machine  awhile 
with  ropes,  to  judge  what  weight  it  would  bear,  and  see  that 


AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND   FABULOUS.         275 

all  was  right.  But  the  wind  prevented  it  from  rising  verti- 
cally, and  directed  it  towards  one  of  the  garden  walks  :  the 
ropes  made  several  rents  in  it,  one  of  six  feet  long.  It 
was  brought  down  again,  and  in  two  hours  was  set  right. 
Having  been  filled  again,  it  set  off  at  fifty-four  minutes 
past  one,  carrying  the  same  persons.  It  rose  in  the  most 
majestic  manner,  and  when  it  was  about  two  hundred  and 
seventy  feet  high,  the  intrepid  voyagers  took  off  their  hats 
and  saluted  the  spectators.  No  one  could  help  feeling  a 
mingled  sentiment  of  fear  and  admiration.  The  voyagers 
were  soon  undistinguishable  ;  but  the  machine,  hovering 
upon  the  horizon,  and  displaying  the  most  beautiful  figure, 
rose  at  least  three  thousand  feet  high,  and  remained  visi- 
ble all  the  time.  It  crossed  the  Seine  below  the  barrier 
of  La  Confe'rence  ;  and  passing  thence  between  the  Ecole 
Militaire  and  the  Hotel  des  Invalides,  was  in  view  of  all 
Paris.  The  voyagers,  satisfied  with  their  experiment,  and 
not  wishing  to  travel  farther,  agreed  to  descend  ;  but 
seeing  that  the  wind  was  carrying  them  upon  the  houses  of 
the  Rue  de  Seve,  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  they  preserved 
their  presence  of  mind,  increased  the  fire,  and  continued 
their  course  through  the  air  till  they  had  crossed  Paris. 
They  then  descended  quietly  on  the  plain,  beyond  the 
new  boulevard,  opposite  the  mill  of  Croulebarbe,  without 
having  felt  the  slightest  inconvenience,  and  having  in  the 
car  two-thirds  of  their  fuel.  They  could  then,  if  they 
had  wished,  have  gone  three  times  as  far  as  they  did  go, 
which  was  5000  toises,  done  in  from  twenty  to  twenty-five 
minutes.  The  machine  was  seventy  feet  high  ;  forty-six 
feet  in  diameter  ;  it  contained  60,000  cubic  feet,  and  carried 
a  weight  of  from  1600  to  1700  pounds.  Given  at  the 
Chateau  of  La  Muette,  at  five  in  the  afternoon.  Signed, 
Due  de  Polignac,  Due  de  Guisnes,  Comte  de  Polastron, 


276         AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND    FABULOUS. 

Comte  de  Vaudreuil,  D'Hunaud,  Benjamin  Franklin,  Fau- 
jas  de  St.  Fond,  de  Lisle,  le  Roy,  of  the  Academy  of  Sci- 
ences." 

This  proch  verbal  is  taken  from  an  excellent  summary 
on  the  balloon,  in  the  "  Penny  Cyclopaedia,"  where  it  is 
followed  by  the  ensuing  extract  from  a  letter  of  the  Mar- 
quis d'Arlandes,  who,  after  stating  that  he  had  obtained 
permission  from  M.  Montgolfier  to  ascend  alone,  but  that, 
by  the  advice  of  the  latter,  M.  de  Rozier  was  associated 
with  him  the  evening  before  the  ascent,  proceeds  thus  : 
"  We  set  off  at  54  minutes  past  one.  The  balloon  was  so 
placed  that  M.  de  Rozier  was  on  the  West,  and  I  on  the 
East.  The  machine,  says  the  public,  rose  with  majesty.  I 
think  few  of  them  saw  that,  at  the  moment  when  it  passed 
the  hedge,  it  made  a  half  turn,  and  we  changed  our  posi- 
tions, which,  thus  altered,  we  retained  to  the  end.  I  was 
astonished  at  the  smallness  of  the  noise  or  motion  occa- 
sioned by  our  departure  among  the  spectators.  I  thought 
they  might  be  astonished  and  frightened,  and  might  stand 
in  need  of  encouragement "  (a  beautiful  trait  of  coolness 
from  the  man  in  the  balloon  to  those  on  terra  Jirma).  "  I 
waved  my  arm  with  little  success  ;  I  then  drew  out  and 
shook  my  handkerchief,  and  immediately  perceived  a  great 
movement  in  the  garden.  It  seemed  as  if  the  spectators 
all  formed  one  mass,  which  rushed  by  an  involuntary 
motion  towards  the  wall,  which  it  seemed  to  consider  as 
the  only  obstacle  between  us.  At  this  moment  M.  de  Ro- 
zier called  out,  '  You  are  doing  nothing,  and  we  do  not 
rise.'  I  begged  his  pardon,  took  some  straw,  moved  the 
fire,  and  turned  again  quickly ;  but  I  could  not  find  La 
Muette.  In  astonishment,  I  followed  the  river  with  my 
eye,  and  at  last  found  where  the  Oise  joined  it.  Here 
then,  was  Conflans ;  nearest  to  them,  I  repeated,  Poissy, 


AERONAUTICS,   REAL    AND    FABULOUS.         277 

St.  Germain,  St.  Denis,  Seve,  then  I  am  still  at  Poissy,  or 
at  Chaillot.  Accordingly,  looking  down  through  the  car, 
I  saw  the  Visitation  de  Chaillot.  M.  Pilatre  said  to  me 
at  this  moment,  '  Here  is  the  river,  and  we  are  descend- 
ing.' '  Well,  my  friend,'  said  I,  '  more  fire  ; '  and  we  set 
to  work.  But,  instead  of  crossing  the  river,  as  our  course 
towards  the  Invalides  seemed  to  indicate,  we  went  along 
the  He  des  Cygnes,  entered  the  principal  bed  again,  and 
went  up  the  stream  till  we  were  above  the  Barriere  la  Con- 
ference. I  said  to  my  brave  associate,  '  Here  is  a  river, 
which  is  very  difficult  to  cross.'  '  I  think  so,'  said  he  ; 
'you  are  doing  nothing.'  '  I  am  not  so  strong  as  you,' 
I  answered ;  '  and  we  are  well  as  we  are.'  I  stirred  the 
fire,  and  seized  a  bundle  of  straw,  which,  being  too  much 
pressed,  did  not  light  well.  I  shook  it  over  the  flame, 
and  the  instant  after  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  seized  under 
the  arms,  and  I  said  to  my  friend,  '  We  are  rising  now, 
however.'  'Yes,  we  are  rising,'  he  answered,  coming  from 
the  interior,  where  he  had  been  seeing  all  was  right.  At 
this  moment  I  heard  a  noise  high  up  in  the  balloon,  which 
made  me  fear  it  had  burst.  I  looked  up,  and  saw  nothing ; 
but,  as  I  had  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  machine,  I  felt  a  shock, 
the  first  I  had  experienced.  The  shock  was  upwards, 
and  I  cried  out,  'What  are  you  doing,  —  are  you  danc- 
ing ? '  'I  am  not  stirring.'  '  So  much  the  better,'  I  said  ; 
'  this  must  be  a  new  current,  which  will,  I  hope,  take  us 
off  the  river.'  Accordingly,  I  turned  to  see  where  we  were, 
and  found  myself  between  the  Ecole  Militaire  and  the  In- 
valides, which  we  had  passed  by  about  400  toises.  M. 
Pilatre  said,  'We  are  in  the  plain.'  'Yes,'  I  said,  'we 
are  getting  on.'  '  Let  us  set  to  work,'  he  replied.  I 
heard  a  noise  in  the  machine,  which  I  thought  came  from 
the  breaking  of  a  cord.     I  looked  in  and  saw  that  the 


278         AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND    FABULOUS. 

southern  part  was  full  of  round  holes,  several  of  them 
large.  I  said, '  We  must  get  down.'  '  Why  ? '  '  Look,'  said  I. 
At  the  same  time,  I  took  my  sponge  (pyrotechnical  term), 
and  easily  extinguished  the  fire,  which  was  enlarging  such 
of  the  holes  as  I  could  reach  ;  but  on  trying  if  the  balloon 
was  fast  to  the  lower  circle,  I  found  it  easily  came  off.  I 
repeated  to  my  companion, '  We  must  descend.'  He  looked 
round  him,  and  said,  '  We  are  over  Paris.'  Having  looked 
to  the  safety  of  the  cords,  I  said,  '  We  can  cross  Paris.'  We 
were  now  coming  near  the  roofs  :  we  raised  the  fire,  and 
rose  again  with  great  ease.  I  looked  under  me  and  saw 
the  Missions  Etrangeres,  and  it  seemed  as  if  we  were  going 
towards  the  towers  of  St.  Sulpice,  which  I  could  see. 
Raising  ourselves,  a  current  turned  us  south.  I  saw  on 
my  left  a  wood,  which  I  thought  was  the  Luxembourg. 
We  passed  the  Boulevard  ;  and  I  called  out,  '  Pied  a  terre.' 
We  stopped  the  fire,  but  the  brave  Pilatre,  who  did  not 
lose  his  self-possession,  thought  we  were  coming  upon 
mills  and  warned  me.  .  .  .  We  alighted  at  the  Butte  aux 
Cailles,  between  the  mill  Des  Merveilles  and  the  Moulin 
Vieux.  The  moment  we  touched  land,  I  held  by  the  car 
with  my  two  hands :  I  felt  the  balloon  press  my  head 
lightly.  I  pushed  it  off,  and  leaped  out.  Turning  tow- 
ards the  balloon,  which  I  expected  to  find  full,  to  my 
great  astonishment,  it  was  perfectly  empty  and  flattened." 

The  second  balloon  voyage  was  that  of  Messrs.  Charles 
and  Robert,  at  sunset,  from  the  Tuileries,  Dec.  1,  1783. 
M.  Charles  reascended  immediately  afterwards,  alone,  to 
the  height  of  nearly  two  miles,  and  saw  the  sun  rise  again. 
"  I  was  the  only  illuminated  object,"  he  says  ;  "  all  the  rest 
of  nature  being  plunged  in  shadow." 

M.  de  Rozier  ascended  for  the  third  time,  in  the  third 
voyage,  in   company  with    Joseph    Montgolfier,  and   six 


AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND    FABULOUS.         279 

other  persons.  The  balloon  was  "  intended  for  six  only, 
and  these  were  found  too  many,  but  no  one  could  be  in- 
duced to  give  up  his  place.  The  instant  after  the  ropes 
had  been  cut,  a  seventh  person  jumped  in.  A  rent  in  the 
balloon  caused  it  to  descend  with  great  velocity,  but  no  one 
was  hurt." 

February  22,  1784,  a  small  balloon,  launched  by  itself, 
from  Sandwich,  crossed  the  channel. 

March  2,  1784,  M.  Blanchard  made  his  first  ascent  from 
Paris,  carrying  a  parachute  in  case  of  need. 

April  25,  1784,  Messrs.  de  Morveau  and  Bertrand  as- 
cended 13,000  English  feet,  at  Dijon,  and  thought  they 
found  some  effect  produced  by  the  use  of  oars. 

May  20,  1784,  ladies  first  went  up,  four  of  them  with 
two  gendemen,  but  in  a  balloon  secured  by  ropes.  Ma- 
dame Thible,  however,  ascended  on  the  4th  of  June,  with 
one  other  person  in  a  free  balloon. 

September  15,  1784,  the  first  voyage  in  England  was 
made  by  Vincenzo  Lunardi,  who  took  with  him  a  dog,  a 
cat,  and  a  pigeon.  He  rose  from  the  artillery-ground,  and 
landed  at  Standon,  near  Ware,  in  Hertfordshire. 

January  7,  1785,  M.  Blanchard  and  Dr.  Jeffries  crossed 
the  channel.  June  15,  1785,  M.  Pilatre  de  Rozier,  and  M. 
Romain  ascended  from  Boulogne,  with  the  intention  of 
crossing  the  channel,  when  the  balloon  took  fire,  and  the  gal- 
lant De  Rozier,  the  first  aeronaut,  together  with  his  unfor- 
tunate companion,  fell  from  a  height  of  a  thousand  yards, 
and  was  killed  on  the  spot. 

July  22,  General  Money  ascended  at  Norwich,  and  the 
balloon  dropped  in  the  water,  where  the  voyager  remained 
six  hours  before  he  was  rescued. 

In  1807,  M.  Garnerin  ascended  from  Paris,  and  landed 
at,  or  rather  "  was  dashed  against  Mount  Tonnerre,  300 
miles  from  that  place,  after  running  very  great  risks." 


280         AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND    FABULOUS. 

September  21,  1802,  M.  Garnerin  descended  from  a  bal- 
loon by  means  of  a  parachute,  near  the  Small-pox  Hospi- 
tal, at  St.  Pancras.  I  remember  seeing  him,  frightfully 
swung  about  at  first,  but  afterwards  coming  down  steadily, 
to  the  great  relief  of  an  enormous  multitude,  whose  sudden 
gathering  together  in  the  fields  almost  astonished  me  as 
much  as  the  parachute. 

Several  ascents  have  been  made  for  the  purpose  of  scien- 
tific experiments  ;  among  others,  one  by  M.  Gay  Lussac, 
at  Paris,  to  the  height  of  23,000  feet. 

"In  1806,  Carlo  Brioschi,  astronomer-royal  at  Naples, 
ascended  with  Signor  Andreani,  who  had  been  the  first 
Italian  aeronaut.  Trying  to  rise  higher  than  M.  Gay  Lus- 
sac, they  got  into  an  atmosphere  so  rarefied  as  to  burst  the 
balloon.  Its  remnants  checked  the  velocity  of  their  de- 
scent ;  and  this,  with  their  falling  on  an  open  space,  saved 
their  lives ;  but  Brioschi  contracted  a  complaint,  which 
brought  him  to  his  grave." 

Since  this  period  many  ascents  have  been  made  both  in 
France  and  England,  by  a  variety  of  aeronauts,  one  of 
whom,  in  the  latter  country,  generally  keeps  possession  of 
the  public  curiosity  for  a  certain  time,  and  makes  the  bal- 
loon a  sort  of  profession.  It  is  said  in  the  publication 
above  quoted,  that  the  balloon  is  now  a  "  toy  in  which  as- 
cents are  sometimes  made  to  amuse  a  crowd,"  and  that 
what  "  was  honorable  risk,  so  long  as  any  thing  could  be 
gained  to  science,  is  now  mere  foolhardiness,  and  will  con- 
tinue to  be  so  until  some  definite  object  be  proposed,  and 
some  probable  means  suggested  of  attaining  it."  But  this 
is  surely  too  harsh  a  judgment.  Amusement  is  worth 
something  for  its  own  sake,  and  courage  too ;  and  by  fa- 
miliarity with  the  machine,  gradual  improvements  in  its 
construction  must  be  acquired,  and  its  safety  made  greater, 


AERONAUTICS,   REAL   AND    FABULOUS.         28 1 

for  greater  purposes.  It  is  a  long  time  since  any  catastro- 
phe has  happened  to  a  balloon  made  of  the  ordinary  ma- 
terials. 

The  greatest  fault  to  be  found  with  aerial  voyagers  is  the 
dulness  of  the  narratives  which  they  put  forth.  One 
would  expect  from  their  strange  experiences  more  lively 
and  copious  accounts  ;  but  whether  it  is  that  they  are  not 
gifted  with  too  much  observation  themselves,  or  have  less 
to  observe  than  might  be  supposed,  —  whether  they  are 
not  imaginative  or  well  informed  enough,  or  the  air  is  for 
the  most  part  as  barren  of  sights  as  the  ocean,  nothing 
can  be  more  barren  or  brief  than  their  narratives  in  gen- 
eral. All  which  the  traveller  tells  us  is,  that  he  rose  to  a 
certain  height,  and  went  to  a  certain  distance  ;  that  the 
spectacle  around  him  was  very  imposing,  or  grand,  or 
magnificent ;  that  he  saw  Kensington  Gardens  distinctly, 
or  the  old  London  docks ;  that  the  trees  looked  like 
hedges ;  and  that  he  alighted  safely  at  such  and  such  a 
place,  where  he  was  treated  with  great  hospitality  by  Mr. 
Jenkins  ;  after  which,  he  and  his  balloon  returned  to  town 
the  same  evening  by  a  post-chaise.  Truth  is  certainly  not 
"  more  wondrous  than  fiction  "  here.  Ariosto's  hippogriff 
and  Mr.  Southey's  aerial  boat  are  abundantly  more  enter- 
taining. 

In  the  first  navigations  of  this  kind,  allowance  is  to  be 
made  for  the  fluttered  feelings  of  the  voyagers,  which, 
indeed,  are  a  zest  of  themselves.  And  perhaps  the  same 
allowance  is  to  be  made  now,  especially  as  there  is  still  a 
tendency  in  the  parties  to  compliment  one  another  upon 
their  courage.  The  thing  to  be  desired,  however  (besides 
going  up  in  more  picturesque  and  varied  countries  — 
mountainous,  in  particular),  is,  that  they  would  tell  us  all 
they  feel  or  see,  giving  us  the  minutest  details,  scenery, 


^ 


282         AERONAUTICS,  REAL   AND    FABULOUS. 

sensation,  experiment,  disappointment,  every  thing.  It  is 
hard  if  the  results  would  not  be  more  interesting  than  at 
present.  Why  does  not  Lord  Clanricarde  favor  us  with 
an  account  ?  Or  Captain  Currie  ?  It  would  be  curious  to 
see  the  characters  of  the  different  minds,  and  of  the  im- 
pressions made  upon  them.  By  and  by,  people  would  be 
going  up  to  record  their  experiences  ;  and  being  on  the 
watch  for  observation,  new  appearances  would  be  noticed. 
How  should  you  feel,  reader,  up  in  the  sky  ?  What  should 
you  say  or  do  ?  Do  you  think  you  should  be  inclined 
to  be  merry  or  grave  ?  or  timid  or  bold  ?  —  or  neither  ? 
Should  you  think  most  of  the  third  heaven,  or  of  Pic- 
cadilly ? 

Horace  is  of  opinion  that  the  man  who  first  went  to  sea 
must  have  had  a  heart  triple-hooped  with  brass.  What 
would  he  have  said  to  the  first  aeronaut  ?  He  has  antici- 
pated without  knowing  it,  in  the  same  ode  :  — 

Coelum  ipsum  petimus  stultitia. 

Our  folly  strives  to  reach  the  heav'ns  themselves. 

It  is  thought  a  fearful  thing  at  sea  to  have  only  a  plank 
between  you  and  death  ;  but  you  have  a  comparatively 
kindly  element  to  fall  into,  something  more  substantial, 
and  which  gives  you  a  chance.  You  can  struggle  with  it, 
swim,  cry  out,  get  upon  a  piece  of  wood  or  a  hen-coop. 
Being  a  swimmer  myself,  I  never  feel  as  if  I  should  be 
lost  in  water,  as  long  as  I  had  only  myself  to  attend  to. 
But  think  of  a  plank's  being  between  you  and  a  distance 
of  three  miles  and  a  half,  —  all  sheer  emptiness  !  Down 
you  go,  precipitate,  chucked  out ;  a  dreg  at  once  tragical 
and  ridiculous  ;  a  fluttering  bit  of  humanity,  no  securer 
than  a  lump  of  lead,  no  stronger  than  a  feather.  To  be 
sure,  there  are  instances  of  being  saved ;  but  who  could 
think  of  them  at  the  moment  of  ejaculation  ? 


AERONAUTICS,   REAL    AND    FABULOUS.  283 

Should  a  time,  however,  arrive  when  balloons  shall  be 
equally  safe  and  guidable,  steerable  against  the  wind,  &c, 
(and  who,  in  this  age  of  science  and  steam-engines,  shall 
say  there  will  not  ?)  it  is  very  pleasant  to  fancy  one's  self 
keeping  one's  balloon,  like  a  carriage,  ordering  it  hither 
and  thither,  visiting  one's  friends  over  the  house-tops,  and 
"  looking  in,"  not  at  the  street  door,  but  at  the  drawing- 
room  window,  &c.  The  poet  wishes  that  he  could  fly ;  so 
that  when  pleasure  flagged  in  the  East,  he  might 

"  Order  his  wings,  and  be  off  to  the  West." 

This  undoubtedly  would  be  pleasanter ;  more  convenient, 
and  not  so  expensive.  But  he  might  have  both ;  and 
wings,  compared  with  a  balloon,  would  be  like  horse-keep- 
ing, compared  with  a  carnage.  Beaux,  instead  of  cantering 
beside  barouches,  would  then  flutter  three  miles  high  by 
the  side  of  a  car  ;  and  a  hero  in  a  novel  would  gloriously 
catch  his  mistress  in  his  arms,  if  her  balloon  burst,  and 
convey  her  safely  to  earth,  as  Mercury  did  Psyche.  People 
would  then  be  accused,  not  of  running,  but  of  flying  after 
the  girls  ;  and  we  should  see  an  air-lounger  fifty  feet  above 
Regent  Street,  pursuing  some  maid-servant,  or  pretty  mil- 
liner, in  and  out  the  chimneys.* 


*  "  I  have  fully  considered  the  project  of  these  our  modem  Daedalists,"  says 
Addison,  in  the  "  Guardian,"  "  and  am  resolved  so  far  to  discourage  it,  as  to  pre- 
vent any  person  from  flying  in  my  time.  It  would  fill  the  world  with  innumer- 
able immoralities,  and  give  such  occasions  for  intrigues,  as  people  cannot  meet 
with  who  have  nothing  but  legs  to  carry  them.  You  should  have  a  couple  of 
lovers  making  a  midnight  assignation  upon  the  top  of  the  monument,  and  see 
the  cupola  of  St.  Paul's  covered  with  both  sexes,  like  the  outside  of  a  pigeon- 
house.  Nothing  would  be  more  frequent  than  to  see  a  beau  flying  in  at  a 
garret  window,  or  a  gallant  giving  chase  to  his  mistress,  like  a  hawk  after  a 
lark.  There  would  be  no  walking  in  a  shady  wood  without  springing  a  covey 
of  toasts.  The  poor  husband  could  not  dream  what  was  doing  over  his  head  : 
if  he  were  jealous,  indeed,  he  might  clip  his  wife's  wings ;  .  .  .  what  con- 


284  ON    THE    TALKING    OF    NONSENSE. 

But  war !     What  a  horrible  thing  to  be  shot  in  a  bal- 
loon !     To  "  fall  gloriously  "  that  way,  in  battle  ! 

"  There  was  mounting  'mong  Graemes  of  the  Netherby  clan ; 
Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  'rose,''  and  they  ran." 

Think  of  two  armies,  or  navies  rather,  meeting  over  Salis- 
bury Plain,  and  commencing  their  broadsides  !  What  a 
tumbling  forth  of  bodies  and  cocked  hats  ;  of  mid-balloon- 
men,  and  admirals  of  the  sky-blue  !  "  Sky-scraper  "  would 
then  indeed  be  a  proper  term  for  the  top  of  a  vessel ;  and 
"  Pegasus,"  and  "  Bellerophon,"  names  to  some  purpose. 
But  war  must  go  out,  as  nations  advance,  whether  they 
arrive  at  these  altitudes  or  not.  Peaceful  railroads  will 
supersede  hostile  inroads  (as  old  Fuller  would  have  said) : 
nations  will  no  more  go  to  war,  when  they  become  such 
close  neighbors  and  their  interests  are  so  bound  up  to- 
gether, than  Middlesex  will  fight  with  Surrey,  or  trades- 
men with  their  employers. 


v  -~~ 

ON    THE    TALKING    OF    NONSENSE. 

HERE  is  no  greater  mistake  in  the  world  than 
the  looking  upon  every  sort  of  nonsense  as 
want  of  sense.  Nonsense,  in  the  bad  sense 
of  the  word,  like  certain  suspicious  ladies,  is 
very  fond  of  bestowing  its  own  appellation, — 
particularly  upon  what  renders  other  persons  agreeable. 


cern  would  the  father  of  a  family  be  in  all  the  time  his  daughter  was  upon 
the  wing?  Every  heiress  must  have  an  old  woman  flying  at  her  heels,  In 
short,  the  whole  air  would  be  full  of  this  kind  of  gibier,  as  the  French  call  it." 
—  Ed. 


ON   THE    TALKING   OF   NONSENSE.  285 

But  nonsense,  in  the  good  sense  of  the  word,  is  a  very 
sensible  thing  in  its  season  ;  and  is  only  confounded  with 
the  other  by  people  of  a  shallow  gravity,  who  cannot  afford 
to  joke. 

These  gentlemen  live  upon  credit,  and  would  not  have 
it  inquired  into.  They  are  perpetual  beggars  of  the  ques- 
tion. They  are  grave,  not  because  they  think,  or  feel  the 
contrast  of  mirth,  for  then  they  would  feel  the  mirth  itself ; 
but  because  gravity  is  their  safest  mode  of  behavior. 
They  must  keep  their  minds  sitting  still,  because  they  are 
incapable  of  a  motion  that  is  not  awkward.  They  are 
waxen  images  among  the  living,  —  the  deception  is  undone, 
if  the  others  stir,  —  or  hollow  vessels  covered  up,  which 
may  be  taken  for  full  ones,  —  the  collision  of  wit  jars 
against  them,  and  strikes  out  their  hollowness. 

In  fact,  the  difference  between  nonsense  not  worth  talk- 
ing, and  nonsense  worth  it,  is  simply  this  :  the  former  is 
the  result  of  a  want  of  ideas,  the  latter  of  a  superabun- 
dance of  them.  This  is  remarkably  exemplified  by  Swift's 
"  Polite  Conversation,"  in  which  the  dialogue,  though  intend- 
ed to  be  a  tissue  of  the  greatest  nonsense  in  request  with 
shallow  merriment,  is  in  reality  full  of  ideas,  and  many  of 
them  very  humorous  ;  but  then  they  are  all  common- 
place, and  have  been  said  so  often,  that  the  thing  upper- 
most in  your  mind  is  the  inability  of  the  speakers  to  utter 
a  sentence  of  their  own ;  —  they  have  no  ideas  at  all. 
Many  of  the  jokes  and  similes  in  that  treatise  are  still  the 
current  coin  of  the  shallow ;  though  they  are  now  pretty 
much  confined  to  gossips  of  an  inferior  order,  and  the 
upper  part  of  the  lower  classes. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  wildest  rattling,  as  it  is  called, 
in  which  men  of  sense  find  entertainment,  consists  of 
nothing  but  a  quick  and  original  succession  of  ideas,  —  a 


286  ON   THE    TALKING   OF   NONSENSE. 

finding,  as  it  were,  of  something  in  nothing, — a  rapid 
turning  of  the  hearer's  mind  to  some  new  face  of  thought 
and  sparkling  imagery.  The  man  of  shallow  gravity,  be- 
sides an  uneasy  half-consciousness  that  he  has  nothing  of 
the  sort  about  him,  is  too  dull  of  perception  to  see  the 
delicate  links  between  one  thought  and  another ;  and  he 
takes  that  for  a  mere  chaos  of  laughing  jargon,  in  which 
finer  apprehensions  perceive  as  much  delightful  associa- 
tion, as  men  of  musical  taste  do  in  the  most  tricksome 
harmonies  and  accompaniments  of  Mozart  or  Beethoven. 
Between  such  gravity  and  such  mirth,  there  is  as  much 
difference  as  between  the  driest  and  dreariest  psalmody, 
and  that  exquisite  laughing  trio,  —  E  voi  ridete, — which 
is  sung  in  Cosi  Fan  Tutte.  A  quaker's  coat  and  a  garden 
are  not  more  dissimilar ;  —  nor  a  death-bell,  and  the  birds 
after  a  sunny  shower. 

It  is  on  such  occasions  indeed  that  we  enjoy  the  perfec- 
tion of  what  is  agreeable  in  humanity,  —  the  harmony  of 
mind  and  body,  —  intellect  and  animal  spirits.  Accord- 
ingly the  greatest  geniuses  appear  to  have  been  proficients 
in  this  kind  of  nonsense,  and  to  have  delighted  in  dwelling 
upon  it,  and  attributing  it  to  their  favorites.  Virgil  is  no 
joker,  but  Homer  is  :  and  there  is  the  same  difference  be- 
tween their  heroes,  ^Sneas  and  Achilles,  the  latter  of 
whom  is  also  a  player  on  the  harp.  Venus,  the  most 
delightful  of  the  goddesses,  is  philomeides,  the  laughter- 
loving  ;  —  an  epithet,  by  the  bye,  which  might  give  a  good 
hint  to  a  number  of  very  respectable  ladies,  "who  love 
their  lords,"  but  who  are  too  apt  to  let  ladies  less  respect- 
able run  away  with  them.  Horace  represents  Pleasantry 
as  fluttering  about  Venus  in  company  with  Cupid,  — 

Quera  Jocus  circumvolat,  et  Cupido  ; 

and  these  are  followed  by  Youth,  the  enjoyer  of  animal 


ON   THE   TALKING   OF   NONSENSE.  287 

spirits,  and  by  Mercury,  the  god  of  persuasion.  There  is 
the  same  difference  between  Tasso  and  Ariosto  as  between 
Virgil  and  Homer ;  that  is  to  say,  the  latter  proves  his 
greater  genius  by  a  completer  and  more  various  hold  on 
the  feelings,  and  has  not  only  a  fresher  spirit  of  Nature 
about  him,  but  a  truer,  because  a  happier ;  for  the  want 
of  this  enjoyment  is  at  once  a  defect  and  a  deterioration. 
It  is  more  or  less  a  disease  of  the  blood  ;  —  a  falling  off 
from  the  pure  and  uncontradicted  blithesomeness  of  child- 
hood ;  a  hampering  of  the  mind  with  the  altered  nerves;  — 
dust  gathered  in  the  watch,  and  perplexing  our  passing 
hours. 

It  may  be  thought  a  begging  of  the  question  to  mention 
Anacreon,  since  he  made  an  absolute  business  of  mirth 
and  enjoyment,  and  sat  down  systematically  to  laugh  as 
well  as  to  drink.  But  on  that  very  account,  perhaps, 
his  case  is  still  more  in  point ;  and  Plato,  one  of  the 
gravest,  but  not  the  shallowest,  of  philosophers,  gave  him 
the  title  of  the  Wise.  The  disciple  of  Socrates  appears 
also  to  have  been  a  great  enjoyer  of  Aristophanes  ;  and 
the  divine  Socrates  himself  was  a  wit  and  a  joker. 

But  the  divine  Shakespeare  ;  —  the  man  to  whom  we  go 
for  every  thing,  and  are  sure  to  find  it,  grave,  melancholy, 
or  merry,  —  what  said  he  to  this  exquisite  kind  of  non- 
sense ?  Perhaps  next  to  his  passion  for  detecting  nature, 
and  over-informing  it  with  poetry,  he  took  delight  in  pur- 
suing a  joke ;  and  the  lowest  scenes  of  his  in  this  way 
say  more  to  men  whose  faculties  are  fresh  about  them, 
and  who  prefer  enjoyment  to  criticism,  than  the  most 
doting  of  commentators  can  find  out.  They  are  instances 
of  his  animal  spirits,  —  of  his  sociality,  —  of  his  passion 
for  giving  and  receiving  pleasure,  —  of  his  enjoyment  of 
something  wiser  than  wisdom. 


288  ON   THE    TALKING   OF   NONSENSE. 

The  greatest  favorites  of  Shakespeare  are  made  to 
resemble  himself  in  this  particular:  Hamlet,  Mercutio, 
Touchstone,  Jaques,  Richard  the  Third,  and  FalstafF,  "  in- 
imitable FalstafF,"  are  all  men  of  wit  and  humor,  modified 
according  to  their  different  temperaments  or  circumstan- 
ces,—  some  from  health  and  spirits,  others  from  sociality, 
others  from  a  contrast  with  their  very  melancholy.  Indeed 
melancholy  itself  with  the  profoundest  intellects,  will  rarely 
be  found  to  be  any  thing  else  than  a  sickly  temperament, 
induced  or  otherwise,  preying  in  its  turn  upon  the  disap- 
pointed expectation  of  pleasure,  —  upon  the  contradiction 
of  hopes,  which  this  world  is  not  made  to  realize,  though 
(let  us  never  forget)  it  is  made,  as  they  themselves  prove, 
to  suggest.  Some  of  Shakespeare's  characters,  as  Mer- 
cutio and  Benedick,  are  almost  entirely  made  up  of  wit 
and  animal  spirits  ;  and  delightful  fellows  they  are ;  and 
ready,  from  their  very  taste,  to  perform  the  most  serious 
and  manly  offices.  Most  of  his  women,  too,  have  an  abun- 
dance of  natural  vivacity.  Desdemona  herself  is  so 
pleasant  of  intercourse  in  every  way,  that  upon  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  respectable  mistakes  above  mentioned,  the 
Moor,  when  he  grows  jealous,  is  tempted  to  think  it  a 
proof  of  her  want  of  honesty.  But  we  must  make  Shake- 
speare speak  for  himself,  or  we  shall  not  know  how  to  be 
silent  on  this  subject.  What  a  description  is  that  which 
he  gives  of  a  man  of  mirth,  —  of  a  mirth  too,  which  he 
has  expressly  stated  to  be  within  the  limit  of  what  is  be- 
coming !     It  is  in  Love's  Labor  Lost. 

"  A  merrier  man, 
Within  the  limit  of  becoming  mirth, 
I  never  spent  an  hour's  talk  withal. 
His  eye  begets  occasion  for  his  wit : 
For  every  object  that  the  one  doth  catch, 
The  other  turns  to  a  mirth-moving  jest ; 


ON   THE    TALKING   OF   NONSENSE.  289 

Which  his  feir  tongue,  conceit's  expositor, 
Delivers  in  such  apt  and  gracious  words, 
That  aged  ears  play  truant  at  his  tales, 
And  younger  hearings  are  quite  ravished ; 
So  sweet  and  voluble  is  his  discourse." 

We  have  been  led  into  these  reflections,  partly  to  intro- 
duce the  conclusion  of  this  article,  —  partly  from  being 
very  fond  of  a  joke  ourselves,  and  so  making  our  self-love 
as  proud  as  possible,  —  and  partly  from  having  spent  some 
most  agreeable  hours  the  other  evening  with  a  company, 
the  members  of  which  had  all  the  right  to  be  grave  and 
disagreeable  that  rank  and  talent  are  supposed  to  confer, 
and  yet  from  the  very  best  sense  or  forgetfulness  of  both, 
were  as  lively  and  entertaining  to  each  other  as  boys. 
Not  one  of  them  perhaps  but  had  his  cares,  —  one  or  two, 
of  no  ordinary  description  ;  but  what  then  ?  These  are 
the  moments,  if  we  can  take  advantage  of  them,  when 
sorrows  are  shared,  even  unconsciously ;  — moments,  when 
melancholy  intermits  her  fever,  and  hope  takes  a  leap  into 
enjoyment ;  —  when  the  pilgrim  of  life,  if  he  cannot  lay 
aside  his  burden,  forgets  it  in  meeting  his  fellows  about  a 
fountain ;  and  soothes  his  weariness  and  his  resolution 
with  the  sparkling  sight,  and  the  noise  of  the  freshness. 

To  come  to  our  anticlimax,  for  such  we  are  afraid  it 
must  be  called  after  all  this  grave  sentiment  and  mention 
of  authorities.  The  following  dialogue  is  the  substance 
of  a  joke  (never  meant  for  its  present  place)  that  was 
started  the  other  day  upon  a  late  publication.  The  name 
of  the  book  it  is  not  necessary  to  mention,  especially  as  it 
was  pronounced  to  be  one  of  the  driest  that  had  appeared 
for  years.  We  cannot  answer  for  the  sentences  being  put 
to  their  proper  speakers.  The  friends,  whom  we  value 
most,  happen  to  be  great  hunters  in  this  way ;  and  the 
reader  may  look  upon  the  thing  as  a  specimen  of  a  joke 
19 


29O  ON   THE   TALKING   OF   NONSENSE. 

run  down,  or  of  the  sort  of  nonsense  above  mentioned ; 
so  that  he  will  take  due  care  how  he  professes  not  to 
relish  it.  We  must  also  advertise  him,  that  a  proper 
quantity  of  giggling  and  laughter  must  be  supposed  to  be 
interspersed,  till  towards  the  end  it  gradually  becomes  too 
great  to  go  on  with. 

A.  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  book  ? 

B.  Never,  in  all  my  life.     It's  as  dry  as  a  chip. 

A.  As  a  chip  ?    A  chip's  a  slice  of  orange  to  it. 

B.  Ay,  or  a  wet  sponge. 

A.  Or  a  cup  in  a  currant  tart. 

B.  Ah,  ha ;  so  it  is.  You  feel  as  if  you  were  fingering 
a  brick-bat. 

A.  It  makes  you  feel  dust  in  the  eyes. 

B.  It  is  impossible  to  shed  a  tear  over  it.  The  lachry- 
mal organs  are  dried  up. 

A.  If  you  shut  it  hastily,  it  is  like  clapping  together  a 
pair  of  fresh-cleaned  gloves. 

B.  Before  you  have  got  far  in  it,  you  get  up  to  look  at 
your  tongue  in  a  glass. 

A.  It  absolutely  makes  you  thirsty. 

B.  Yes  :  —  If  you  take  it  up  at  breakfast,  you  drink  four 
cups  instead  of  two. 

A.  At  page  30  you  call  for  beer. 

B.  They  say  it  made  a  Reviewer  take  to  drinking. 

A.  They  have  it  lying  on  the  table  at  inns  to  make  you 
drink  double.  The  landlord  says  "A  new  book,  Sir," 
and  goes  out  to  order  two  neguses. 

B.  It  dries  up  every  thing  so,  it  has  ruined  the  draining 
business. 

A.  There  is  an  Act  of  Parliament  to  forbid  people's 
passing  a  vintner's  with  it  in  their  pockets. 


ON    THE   TALKING   OF   NONSENSE.  2QT 

B.  The  Dutch  subscribed  for  it  to  serve  them  instead 
of  dykes.* 


*  A  witty  correspondent  of  Leigh  Hunt  —  probably  Charles  Lamb  — 
thus  "  pampers "  into  pleasant  "  exaggeration  "  the  joke  about  the  "  dry 
book:" — 

What  ?  and  do  you  really  mean  to  say  that  this  is  "  a  specimen  of  a  joke 
run  down?"  For  "run  down,"  read  "wound  up."  There  are  limits  to 
human  wisdom,  but  none  to  folly.  Hercules  might  come  to  a  stand-still,  but 
our  merry  friend  with  the  bauble  was  never  heard  to  exclaim  ne  plus  ultra. 
After  reading  your  pleasant  article  in  our  coterie  the  other  evening,  we  took 
down  "  the  book  "  you  allude  to  (it  gets  into  most  libraries  of  any  size),  and 
it  quickly  inspired  us  with  the  following  dry  jokes  :  — 

A.  Et  certamen  erat,  Corydon  cum  Thyrside,  magnum,  —  Posthabui 

seria  ludo.     Allons.     I  know  an  infant  who,  on  merely  seeing  it,  was  cured  of 
water  in  the  head. 

B.  A  dropsical  gentleman,  given  over  by  his  physicians,  was  never  tapped 
again  after  he  had  read  it. 

A .  Carry  a  copy  under  your  arm,  and  you  need  no  umbrella. 

B.  A  number  were  sent  over  to  Ireland,  just  at  the  time  they  had  almost 
abandoned  the  idea  of  reclaiming  bogs. 

C  A  friend  of  mine  on  the  coast  has  recovered  ninety  acres  of  land  from 
the  sea,  by  possessing  a  copy.     He  calls  it  his  Copyhold  land. 

A .  Southey  tells  me,  that  Kehama  had  one  in  his  pocket  when  he  walked 
into  the  ocean,  and  it  divided. 

B.  When  I  travel,  I  always  take  it  to  read  in  bed  ;  and  though  I  never  use 
a  warming  pan,  I  never  had  the  rheumatism  in  my  life. 

A .  It  must  be  a  very  ancient  work,  for  we  owe  to  it  the  origin  of  the  terms 
"  dry  study,"  "  dry  reading,"  &c. 

C.  It  is  not  generally  known,  but  the  conjurer  rubs  himself  with  it,  before 
he  dips  his  arm  in  boiling  water. 

B.  Some  one  swearing,  kissed  it  in  jest,  which  brought  on  the  complaint 
of  parched  lips.  Feeling  this,  he  threw  it  down,  and  trampling  on  it,  was  laid 
up  with  chilblains. 

C.  It  is  an  excellent  substitute  in  bathing  for  an  oil-skin  cap. 

A .  It  is  said  to  be  very  superior  in  efficacy  to  a  deviled  biscuit. 

D.  It  is  found  in  most  libraries,  which  occasions  such  an  accumulation  of 
dust  in  those  places. 

B.  A  nurse,  who  took  it  up  by  accident,  was  obliged  to  wean  the  child 
directlv. 

P.  A  widow  that  I  know,  after  burying  her  husband,  retired  to  her  closet, 


292 


A   RAINY    DAY. 


V 


A    RAINY    DAY. 

HE  day  that  we  speak  of  is  a  complete  one  of 
its  kind,  beginning  with  a  dark  wet  morning, 
and  ending  in  a  drenching  night.  When  you 
come  down  stairs  from  your  chamber,  you 
find  the  breakfast-room  looking  dark,  the  rain- 
spout  pouring  away,  and  unless  you  live  in  a  street  of 
traffic,  no  sound  out  of  doors  but  a  clack  of  pattens  and 
an  occasional  clang  of  milk-pails.  (Do  you  see  the  rogue 
of  a  milkman  ?  He  is  leaving  them  open  to  catch  the 
rain.) 

We  never  see  a  person  going  to  the  window  on  such  a 
morning,  to  take  a  melancholy  look  out  at  the  washed 
houses  and  pavement,  but  we  think  of  a  reanimation  which 
we  once  beheld  of  old  Tate  Wilkinson.  But  observe  how 
sour  things  may  run  into  pleasant  tastes  at  last.  We  are 
by  no  means  certain  that  the  said  mimetic  antique,  Tate 
Wilkinson,  was  not  Patentee  of  the  York  Theatre,  wore 
a  melancholy  hat  tied  the  wrong  way,  and  cast  looks  of 


and  having  read  a  page,  never  shed  another  tear.     This  may  be  considered  its 
greatest  miracle ! 

C.  Its  author,  who  is  said  to  have  run  mad  during  the  dog-days,  wrote  it 
on  the  sands  of  Africa,  from  whence  it  was  brought  to  this  quarter  of  the  globe 
by  means  of  the  Sirocco.  "  Nil  dictum,  quod  non  dictum  prius,"  is,  as  yon 
now  see,  a  mighty  foolish  maxim  ;  and,  as  a  foolish  bit  of  Latin  makes  a  very 
appropriate  conclusion  to  the  English  that  precedes  it, 

"  Vivas  in  amore  jocisgue  — 
Vive  vale." 

[Live  and  preserve  your  health  for  other  folks, 

And  don't  forget  to  love,  and  crack  your  jokes  ]  —  Ed. 


A   RAINY    DAY.  293 

unutterable  dissatisfaction  at  a  rainy  morning,  purely  to 
let  his  worthy  successor  and  surpasser  in  mimicry,  Mr. 
Charles  Mathews,  hand  down  his  aspect  and  countenance 
for  the  benefit  of  posterity.  We  once  fell  into  company 
with  that  ingenious  person  at  a  bachelor's  house,  where 
he  woke  us  in  the  morning  with  the  suspicious  sound  of 
a  child  crying  in  another  room.  It  was  having  its  face 
washed  ;  and  had  we  been  of  a  scandalizing  turn,  or 
envied  our  host  for  his  hospitality,  we  should  certainly 
have  gone  and  said  that  there  was  a  child  in  his  house  who 
inherited  a  sorrowful  disposition  from  somebody,  and  who 
might  be  heard  (for  all  the  nurse's  efforts  of  a  morning) 
whining  and  blubbering  in  the  intervals  of  the  wash- 
towel  ;  —  now  bursting  into  open-mouthed  complaint,  as  it 
left  him  to  dip  in  the  water  ;  and  anon,  as  it  came  over  his 
face  again,  screwing  up  its  snubbed  features  and  eyes,  and 
making  half-stifled  obstinate  moan  with  his  tight  mouth. 
The  mystery  was  explained  at  breakfast ;  and  as  it  hap- 
pened to  be  a  rainy  morning,  we  were  entertained  with  the 
reanimation  of  that  "living  dead  man,"  poor  Tate  afore- 
said,—  who  had  been  a  merry  fellow,  too,  in  his  day. 
Imagine  a  tall,  thin,  withered,  desponding-looking  old  gen- 
tleman, entering  his  breakfast-room  with  an  old  hat  on,  tied 
under  his  chin  the  wrong  way  of  the  flap,  —  a  beaver  some- 
what of  the  epicene  order,  so  that  you  do  not  know  whether 
it  is  his  wife's  or  his  own.  He  hobbles  and  shrinks  up  to 
the  window,  grunting  gently  with  a  sort  of  preparatory 
despair  ;  and  having  cast  up  his  eyes  at  the  air,  and  seen 
the  weathercock  due  east  and  the  rain  set  in  besides,  drops 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  and  eyes  into  an  expression  of 
double  despondency,  not  unmixed  (if  we  may  speak  unpro- 
fanely)  with  a  sort  of  scornful  resentment ;  and  turns  off 
with   one   solitary,   brief,   comprehensive,   and    groaning 


294  A    RAINY    DAY. 

ejaculation  of  "  Eh  —  Christ !  "  —  We  never  see  anybody 
go  to  the  window  of  a  rainy  morning,  but  we  think  of  this 
poor  old  barometer  of  a  Patentee,  whose  face,  we  trust, 
will  be  handed  down  in  successive  fac-similes  to  posterity, 
for  their  edification  as  well  as  amusement ;  for  Tate  had 
cultivated  much  hypochondriacal  knowledge  in  his  time, 
and  been  a  sad  fellow,  in  a  merry  sense,  before  he  took  to 
it  in  its  melancholy  one. 

The  preparation  for  a  rainy  day  in  town  is  certainly  not 
the  pleasantest  thing  in  the  world,  especially  for  those  w  ho 
have  neither  health  nor  imagination  to  make  their  own 
sunshine.  The  comparative  silence  in  the  streets,  which 
is  made  dull  by  our  knowing  the  cause  of  it,  —  the  window- 
panes  drenched  and  ever-streaming,  like  so  many  helpless 
cheeks,  —  the  darkened  rooms,  —  and  at  this  season  of  the 
year,  the  having  left  off  fires  ;  —  all  fall  like  a  chill  shade 
upon  the  spirits.  But  we  know  not  how  much  pleasantry 
can  be  made  out  of  unpleasantness,  till  we  bestir  ourselves. 
The  exercise  of  our  bodies  will  make  us  bear  the  weather 
better,  even  mentally ;  and  the  exercise  of  our  minds  will 
enable  us  to  bear  it  with  patient  bodies  in-doors,  if  we 
cannot  go  out.  Above  all,  some  people  seem  to  think 
that  they  cannot  have  a  fire  made  in  a  chill  day,  because 
it  is  summer-time,  —  a  notion  which,  under  the  guise  of 
being  seasonable,  is  quite  the  reverse,  and  one  against 
which  we  protest.  A  fire  is  a  thing  to  warm  us  when  we 
are  cold ;  not  to  go  out  because  the  name  of  the  month 
begins  with  J.  Besides,  the  sound  of  it  helps  to  dissipate 
that  of  the  rain.  It  is  justly  called  a  companion.  It 
looks  glad  in  our  faces  ;  it  talks  to  us  ;  it  is  vivified  at  our 
touch  ;  it  vivifies  in  return  ;  it  puts  life  and  warmth  and 
comfort  in  the  room.  A  good  fellow  is  bound  to  see  that 
he  leaves  this  substitute  for  his  company  when  he  goes 


A    RAINY    DAY.  295 

out,  especially  to  a  lady ;  whose  solitary  work-table  in  a 
chill  room  on  such  a  day,  is  a  very  melancholy  refuge. 
We  exhort  her,  if  she  can  afford  it,  to  take  a  book  and  a 
footstool,  and  plant  herself  before  a  good  fire.  We  know 
of  few  baulks  more  complete,  than  coming  down  of  a  chill 
morning  to-  breakfast,  turning  one's  chair  as  usual  to  the 
fireside,  planting  one's  feet  on  the  fender  and  one's  eyes 
on  a  book,  and  suddenly  discovering  that  there  is  no  fire 
in  the  grate.  A  grate,  that  ought  to  have  a  fire  in  it,  and 
gapes  in  one's  face  with  none,  is  like  a  cold,  grinning, 
empty  rascal. 

There  is  something,  we  think,  not  disagreeable  in  issu- 
ing forth  during  a  good,  honest  summer  rain,  with  a  coat 
well  buttoned  up,  and  an  umbrella  over  our  heads.  The 
first  flash  open  of  the  umbrella  seems  a  defiance  to  the 
shower,  and  the  sound  of  it  afterwards,  over  our  dry  heads, 
corroborates  the  triumph.  If  we  are  in  this  humor,  it 
does  not  matter  how  drenching  the  day  is.  We  despise 
the  expensive  effeminacy  of  a  coach ;  have  an  agreeable 
malice  of  self-content  at  the  sight  of  crowded  gate-ways  ; 
and  see  nothing  in  the  furious  little  rain-spouts,  but  a  live- 
ly emblem  of  critical  opposition,  —  weak,  low,  washy,  and 
dirty,  gabbling  away  with  a  perfect  impotence  of  splutter. 

Speaking  of  malice,  there  are  even  some  kinds  of  legs 
which  afford  us  a  lively  pleasure  in  beholding  them 
splashed. 

Lady.     Lord,  you  cruel  man  ! 

Author.  Nay,  I  was  not  speaking  of  yours,  madam. 
How  could  I  wish  ill  to  any  such  very  touching  stockings  ? 
And  yet,  now  I  think  of  it,  there  are  very  gentle  and  sen- 
sitive legs  (I  say  nothing  of  beautiful  ones,  because  all 
gentle  ones  are  beautiful  to  me),  which  it  is  possible  to 
behold  in  a  very  earthy  plight ;  —  at  least  the  feet  and 
ankles. 


296  ',  A    RAINY    DAY. 

L.  And  pray,  sir,  what  are  the  very  agreeable  circum- 
stances under  which  we  are  to  be  mudded  ? 

Author.  Fancy,  madam,  a  walk  with  some  particular 
friend,  between  the  showers,  in  a  green  lane  ;  the  sun 
shining,  the  hay  sweet-smelling,  the  glossy  leaves  sparkling 
like  children's  cheeks  after  tears.  Suppose  this  lane  not 
to  be  got  into,  but  over  a  bank  and  a  brook,  and  a  good 
savage  assortment  of  wagon-ruts.  Yet  the  sunny-green 
so  takes  you,  and  you  are  so  resolved  to  oblige  your  friend 
with  a  walk,  that  you  hazard  a  descent  down  the  slippery 
bank,  a  jump  over  the  brook,  a  leap  (that  will  certainly  be 
too  short)  over  the  ploughed  mud.  Do  you  think  that  a 
good  thick-mudded  shoe  and  a  splashed  instep  would  not 
have  a  merit  in  his  barbarous  eyes,  beyond  even  the  neat 
outline  of  the  Spanish  leather,  and  the  symbolical  white- 
ness of  the  stocking  ?     Ask  him. 

L.     Go  to  your  subject,  do. 

Author.  Well,  I  will.  You  may  always  know  whether 
a  person  wishes  you  a  pleasant  or  unpleasant  adventure, 
by  the  pleasure  or  pain  he  has  in  your  company.  If  he 
would  be  with  you  himself  (and  I  should  like  to  know  the 
pleasant  situation,  or  even  the  painful  one,  if  a  share  of 
it  can  be  made  pleasant,  in  which  we  would  not  have  a 
woman  with  us),  you  may  rest  assured  that  all  the  mischief 
he  wishes  you  is  very  harmless.  —  At  the  same  time,  if 
there  are  situations  in  which  one  could  wish  ill  even  to  a 
lady's  leg,  there  are  legs  and  stockings  which  it  is  possible 
to  fancy  well-splashed  upon  a  very  different  principle. 

Gentleman.     Pray,  sir,  whose  may  those  be  ? 

Author.  Not  yours,  sir,  with  that  delicate  flow  of  trou- 
ser,  and  that  careless  yet  genteel  stretch-out  of  toe.  There 
is  an  humanity  in  the  air  of  it,  — a  graceful,  but  at  the  same 
time  manly,  sympathy  with  the  drapery  beside  it.    I  allude, 


A    RAINY    DAY.  297 

sir,  to  one  of  those  portentous  legs,  which  belong  to  an 
over-fed  money-getter,  or  to  a  bulky  methodist  parson, 
who  has  doating  dinners  got  up  for  him  by  his  hearers. 
You  know  the  leg  I  mean.  It  is  "  like  unto  the  sign  of 
the  leg,"  only  larger.  Observe,  I  do  not  mean  every  kind 
of  large  leg.  The  same  thing  is  not  the  same  thing  in 
every  one,  —  if  you  understand  that  profound  apophthegm. 
As  a  leg,  indifferent  in  itself,  may  become  very  charming, 
if  it  belongs  to  a  charming  owner ;  so  even  when  it  is  of 
the  cast  we  speak  of  in  a  man,  it  becomes  more  or  less 
unpleasant  according  to  his  nature  and  treatment  of  it.  I 
am  not  carping  at  the  leg  of  an  ordinary  jolly  fellow,  which 
good  temper  as  well  as  good  living  helps  to  plump  out, 
and  which  he  is,  after  all,  not  proud  of  exhibiting  ;  keeping 
it  modestly  in  a  boot  or  trousers,  and  despising  the 
starched  ostentation  of  the  other  :  but  at  a  regular,  dull, 
uninformed,  hebetudinous,  "  gross,  open,  and  palpable " 
leg,  whose  calf  glares  upon  you  like  the  ground-glass  of  a 
post-chaise  lamp.  In  the  parson  it  is  somewhat  obscured 
by  a  black  stocking.  A  white  one  is  requisite  to  display 
it  in  all  its  glory.  It  has  a  large  balustrade  calf,  an  ankle 
that  would  be  monstrous  in  any  other  man,  but  looks  small 
from  the  contrast,  a  tight  knee,  well  buttoned,  and  a  seam 
inexorably  in  the  middle.  It  is  a  leg  at  once  gross  and 
symbolical.  Its  size  is  made  up  of  plethora  and  super- 
fluity ;  its  white  cotton  stockings  affect  a  propriety ;  its 
inflexible  seam  and  side  announce  the  man  of  clock-work. 
A  dozen  hard-worked  dependants  go  at  least  to  the  mak- 
ing up  of  that  leg.  If  in  black,  it  is  the  essence  of  infinite 
hams  at  old  ladies'  Sunday  dinners.  Now,  we  like  to  see 
a  couple  of  legs,  of  this  sort,  in  white,  kicking  their  way 
through  a  muddy  street,  and  splashed  unavoidably  as  they 
go,  till  their  horrid  glare  is  subdued  into  spottiness.    'A 


298 


A    RAINY    DAY. 


lamplighter's  ladder  is  of  use,  to  give  him  a  passing  spurn : 
upon  which  the  proprietor,  turning  round  to  swear,  is  run 
against  in  front  by  a  wheelbarrow ;  upon  which,  turning 
round  again  to  swear  worse,  he  thrusts  his  heel  upon  the 
beginning  of  a  loose  stone  in  the  pavement,  and  receives 
his  final  baptism  from  a  fount  of  mud. 

Our  limits  compel  us  to  bring  this  article  to  a  speedier 
conclusion,  than  we  thought ;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  we  are 
not  sorry  for  it ;  for  we  happened  to  break  off  here  in 
order  to  write  the  one  following,  and  it  has  not  left  us  in 
a  humor  to  return  to  our  jokes.* 

We  must  therefore  say  little  of  a  world  of  things  we 
intended  to  descant  on,  —  of  pattens,  —  and  eaves,  —  and 
hackney-coaches,  —  and  waiting  in  vain  to  go  out  on  a 
party  of  pleasure,  while  the  youngest  of  us  insists  every 
minute  that  "  it  is  going  to  hold  up,"  —  and  umbrellas 
dripping  on  one's  shoulder,  —  and  the  abomination  of 
soaked  gloves,  —  and  standing  up  in  gate-ways,  when  you 
hear  now  and  then  the  passing  roar  of  rain  on  an  umbrel- 
la,—  and  glimpses  of  the  green  country  at  the  end  of 
streets, — and  the  footmarked  earth  of  the  country-roads, — ■ 
and  clouds  eternally  following  each  other  from  the  west, — ■ 
and  the  scent  of  the  luckless  new-mown  hay,  —  and  the 
rainbow,  —  and  the  glorious  thunder  and  lightning,  —  and 
a  party  waiting  to  go  home  at  night,  —  and,  last  of  all,  the 
delicious  moment  of  taking  off  your  wet  things,  and  rest- 
ing in  the  dry  and  warm  content  of  your  gown  and  slip- 
pers.f 


*  "The  Italian  Girl,"  in  the  "  Indicator."  — Ed. 

t  Years  after  the  publication  of  this  sprightly  effusion,  the  author  wrote  an 
other  article  on  "  A  Rainy  Day,"  which  the  reader  will  find  (if  he  cares  to 
look  for  it)  in  "  The  Seer."  —  Ed. 


THE    TRUE    ENJOYMENT    OF    SPLENDOR.       299 


V 


THE  TRUE  ENJOYMENT  OF  SPLENDOR. 

A    CHINESE    APOLOGUE. 

OUBTLESS,  saith  the  illustrious  Me,  he  that 
gaineth  much  possession  hath  need  of  the 
wrists  of  Hong  and  the  seriousness  of  Shan- 
Fee,  since  palaces  are  not  built  with  a  tea- 
spoon, nor  are  to  be  kept  by  one  who  runneth 
after  butterflies.  But  above  all  it  is  necessary  that  he 
who  carrieth  a  great  burden,  whether  of  gold  or  silver, 
should  hold  his  head  as  lowly  as  is  necessary,  lest  on  lift- 
ing it  on  high  he  bring  his  treasure  to  nought,  and  lose 
with  the  spectators  the  glory  of  true  gravity,  which  is 
meekness. 

Quo,  who  was  the  son  of  Quee,  who  was  the  son  of 
Quee-Fong,  who  was  the  five-hundred  and  fiftieth  in  lineal 
descent  from  the  ever-to-be-remembered  Fing,  chief  min- 
ister of  the  Emperor  Yau,  one  day  walked  out  into  the 
streets  of  Pekin  in  all  the  lustre  of  his  rank.  Quo,  be- 
sides the  greatness  of  his  birth  and  the  multitude  of  his 
accomplishments,  was  a  courtier  of  the  first  order,  and  his 
pigtail  was  proportionate  to  his  merits,  for  it  hung  down 
to  the  ground  and  kissed  the  dust  as  it  went  with  its 
bunch  of  artificial  roses.  Ten  huge  and  sparkling  rings, 
which  incrusted  his  hands  with  diamonds,  and  almost 
rivalled  the  sun  that  struck  on  them,  led  the  ravished  eyes 
of  the  beholders  to  the  more  precious  enormity  of  his 
nails,  which  were  each  an  inch  long,  and  by  proper  nibbing 
might  have  taught  the  barbarians  of  the  West  to  look  with 
just  scorn  on  their  many  writing-machines.      But  even 


300       THE    TRUE    ENJOYMENT    OF    SPLENDOR. 

these  were  nothing  to  the  precious  stones  that  covered 
him  from  head  to  foot.  His  bonnet,  in  which  a  peacock's 
feather  was  stuck  in  a  most  engaging  manner,  was  sur- 
mounted by  a  sapphire  of  at  least  the  size  of  a  pigeon's 
egg ;  his  shoulders  and  sides  sustained  a  real  burden  of 
treasure ;  and  as  he  was  one  of  the  handsomest  men  at 
court,  being  exceedingly  corpulent,  and  indeed,  as  his 
flatterers  gave  out,  hardly  able  to  walk,  it  may  be  imagined 
that  he  proceeded  at  no  undignified  pace.  He  would  have 
ridden  in  his  sedan,  had  he  been  lighter  of  body,  but  so 
much  unaffected  corpulence  was  not  to  be  concealed,  and 
he  went  on  foot  that  nobody  might  suspect  him  of  pre- 
tending to  a  dignity  he  did  not  possess.  Behind  him, 
three  servants  attended,  clad  in  the  most  gorgeous  silks  ; 
the  middle  one  held  his  umbrella  over  his  head ;  he  on 
the  right  bore  a  fan  of  ivory,  whereon  were  carved  the 
exploits  of  Whay-Quang ;  and  he  on  the  left  sustained  a 
purple  bag  on  each  arm,  one  containing  opium  and  Areca- 
nut,  the  other  the  ravishing  preparation  of  Gin-Seng, 
which  possesses  the  Five  Relishes.  All  the  servants 
looked  the  same  way  as  their  master,  that  is  to  say, 
straight  forward,  with  their  eyes  majestically  half-shut, 
only  they  cried  every  now  and  then  with  a  loud  voice, 
"Vanish  from  before  the  illustrious  Quo,  favorite  of  the 
mighty  Brother  of  the  Sun  and  Moon." 

Though  the  favorite  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to 
the  left,  he  could  not  but  perceive  the  great  homage  that 
was  paid  him  as  well  by  the  faces  as  the  voices  of  the 
multitude.  But  one  person,  a  Bonze,  seemed  transported 
beyond  all  the  rest  with  an  enthusiasm  of  admiration,  and 
followed  at  a  respectful  distance  from  his  side,  bowing  to 
the  earth  at  every  ten  paces  and  exclaiming,  "  Thanks  to 
my  lord  for  his  jewels  !  "     After  repeating  this  for  about 


THE    TRUE    ENJOYMENT   OF   SPLENDOR.       3OI 

six  times,  he  increased  the  expressions  of  his  gratitude, 
and  said,  "  Thanks  to  my  illustrious  lord  from  his  poor  ser- 
vant for  his  glorious  jewels,"  —  and  then  again,  "Thanks 
to  my  illustrious  lord,  whose  eye  knoweth  not  degradation, 
from  his  poor  servant,  who  is  not  fit  to  exist  before  him, 
for  his  jewels  that  make  the  rays  of  the  sun  look  like  ink." 
In  short,  the  man's  gratitude  was  so  great,  and  its  lan- 
guage delivered  in  phrases  so  choice,  that  Quo  could 
contain  his  curiosity  no  longer,  and  turning  aside,  de- 
manded to  know  his  meaning  :  "  I  have  not  given  you  the 
jewels,"  said  the  favorite,  "and  why  should  you  thank 
me  for  them  ? " 

"  Refulgent  Quo  !  "  answered  the  Bonze,  again  bowing 
to  the  earth,  "  what  you  say  is  as  true  as  the  five  maxims 
of  Fo,  who  was  born  without  a  father: — but  your  slave 
repeats  his  thanks,  and  is  indeed  infinitely  obliged.  You 
must  know,  O  dazzling  son  of  Quee,  that  of  all  my  sect  I 
have  perhaps  the  greatest  taste  for  enjoying  myself.  See- 
ing my  lord  therefore  go  by,  I  could  not  but  be  transported 
at  having  so  great  a  pleasure,  and  said  to  myself,  '  The 
great  Quo  is  very  kind  to  me  and  my  fellow-citizens  :  he 
has  taken  infinite  labor  to  acquire  his  magnificence ;  he 
takes  still  greater  pains  to  preserve  it,  and  all  the  while,  I, 
who  am  lying  under  a  shed,  enjoy  it  for  nothing.' " 

A  hundred  years  after,  when  the  Emperor  Whang  heard 
this  story,  he  diminished  the  expenditure  of  his  household 
one  half,  and  ordered  the  dead  Bonze  to  be  raised  to  the 
rank  of  a  Colao. 


302 


MEN    WEDDED    TO    BOOKS. 


RETROSPECTIVE  REVIEW— MEN  WEDDED 
TO  BOOKS  — THE  CONTEST  BETWEEN  THE 
NIGHTINGALE   AND   MUSICIAN. 


E  have  often  had  occasion  to  think  of  the  ex- 
clamation of  that  ingenious  saint,  who,  upon 
reading  a  fine  author,  cried  out  "  Pereant 
male  qui  ante  nos  nostra  dixerunt  !  "  — 
"  Deuce  take  those  who  have  said  our  good 
things  before  us  ! "  —  Now,  without  mentioning  the  ex- 
tendibility  (we  are  writing  in  high  spirits,  early  on  a  fine 
morning,  and  cannot  stop  to  find  a  better  word)  —  without 
mentioning  the  extendibility  of  this  judicious  imprecation 
to  deeds,  as,  "  Deuce  take  those  who  have  anticipated  our 
exploits  ;  "  or  to  possessions,  as  "  Confound  those  fellows 
that  ride  in  our  coaches  and  eat  our  asparagus  ;  "  —  we 
cannot  help  thinking  the  phrase  particularly  applicable  to 
those  who  have  read  our  authors  —  "  Plague  take  those 
who  anticipate  our  articles, — who  quote  our  highly  inter- 
esting passages  out  of  old  books." 

Here  is  a  Retrospective  Review  set  up,  which  with  an 
alarming  precision  of  prepositions  undertakes  to  make 
"  Criticisms  upon,  Analyses  of,  and  Extracts  from,  curi- 
ous, useful,  and  valuable  Books  in  all  languages,  that  have 
been  published  from  the  Revival  of  Literature  to  the  Com- 
mencement of  the  Present  Century  ;  "  —  And  what  is  very 
inconsiderate,  it  performs  all  this,  and  more.  Its  criti- 
cisms are  of  a  very  uncritical  kind ;  deep  and  well-tem- 
pered. It  can  afford  to  let  other  people  have  their  merits. 
Proud  of  the  literature  of  past  ages,  it  is  nevertheless  not 
at  all  contemptuous  of  the  present ;  and  even  in  reading  a 


MEN    WEDDED    TO    BOOKS.  303 

lecture  to  modern  critics,  as  it  does  admirably  in  its  second 
number  in  an  article  on  the  once  formidable  John  Dennis, 
it  expostulates  in  so  genial  and  informing  a  spirit,  that  he 
must  be  a  very  far  gone  critical  old  woman  indeed,  who 
does  not  feel  inclined  to  leave  off  the  brandy-drinking  of 
abuse,  —  the  pin-sticking  of  grudging  absurdity.  It  is 
extremely  pleasant  to  see  it  travelling  in  this  way  over  so 
wide  a  range  of  literature,  warming  as  well  as  penetrating 
as  it  goes,  with  a  sunny  eye,  —  now  fetching  out  the  re- 
motest fields,  and  anon  driving  the  shadows  before  it  and 
falling  in  kindly  lustre  upon  ourselves.  The  highest  com- 
pliment that  we  can  pay  it,  or  indeed  any  other  work,  is  to 
say,  that  the  enthusiasm  is  young,  and  the  knowledge  old  ; 
—  a  rare,  a  wise,  and  a  delightful  combination.* 

It  is  lucky  for  us  that  we  happened  to  speak  of  this 
work  in  another  publication,  the  very  day  before  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  second  number ;  for  the  latter  contained 
a  very  kind  mention  of  the  little  work  now  before  the 
reader ;  and  thus  our  present  notice  might  have  been  laid 


*  "The  Retrospective  Review,"  says  Lowell,  in  a  pleasant  passage  of  his 
uncollected  prose  writings,  "continues  to  be  good  reading,  in  virtue  of  the 
antique  aroma  (for  wine  only  acquires  its  bouquet  by  age)  which  pervades  its 
pages.  Its  sixteen  volumes  are  so  many  tickets  of  admission  to  the  vast  and 
devious  vaults  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  through  which  we 
wander,  tasting  a  thimbleful  of  rich  Canary,  honeyed  Cyprus,  or  subacidulous 
Hock,  from  what  dusty  butt  or  keg  our  fancy  chooses.  The  years  during  which 
this  Review  was  published  were  altogether  the  most  fruitful  in  genuine  appre- 
ciation of  old  English  literature.  Books  were  prized  for  their  imaginative,  and 
not  their  antiquarian,  value,  by  young  writers  who  sat  at  the  feet  of  Lamb  and 
Coleridge."  One  of  th«  best  and  most  agreeable  contributors  to  the  "  Retro- 
spective Review  "  was  Thomas  Noon  Talfourd,  the  biographer  of  Lamb,  and 
the  early  friend  and  literary  guide  of  Dickens.  He  wrote  the  article  on  John 
Dennis,  mentioned  above,  and  those  on  North's  "  Life  of  Lord  Guilford," 
"  Rymer  on  Tragedy,"  Colley  Cibber's  "  Apology  for  his  Life,"  and  Wal- 
lace's "  Prospects  of  Mankind,  Nature,  and  Providence."  —  Ed. 


304  MEN    WEDDED    TO    BOOKS. 

to  the  account  of  a  vanity,  which,  however  gratified,  is  not 
the  cause  of  it.  The  value  of  praise  as  well  as  rebuke 
does  indeed  depend  upon  the  nature  of  the  persons  from 
whom  it  comes  ;  and  it  is  as  difficult  not  to  be  delighted 
with  panegyric  from  some,  as  it  is  easy  to  be  indifferent  to 
it,  or  even  pained  by  it,  from  others.  But  when  we  con- 
fess our  pleasure  in  this  instance,  we  can  say  with  equal 
truth,  that  all  our  feelings  and  hopes  being  identified  with 
the  cause  of  what  we  think  good  and  kind,  our  very  self- 
love  becomes  identified  with  it ;  and  we  would  consent  to 
undergo  the  horrible  moment  of  annihilation  and  oblivion 
the  next  instant,  could  we  be  assured  that  the  world  would 
be  as  happy  as  we  were  unremembered.  And  yet  what  a 
Yes !  would  that  be  ! 

But  to  get  from  under  the  imagination  of  this  crush  of 
our  being,  and  emerge  into  the  lightness  and  pleasurability 
of  life,  —  it  was  very  hard  of  the  Retrospective  Review, 
that,  while  it  praised  us,  it  should  pick  our  intentional 
pockets  of  an  extract  we  had  long  thought  of  making  from 
an  old  poet.  We  allude  to  the  poem  called  "  Music's 
Duel"  from  Crashaw.  Here  the  feelings  expressed  at 
the  head  of  our  paper  come  over  us  again.  It  has  been 
said  of  fond  students  that  they  were  "wedded  to  their 
books."  We  have  even  heard  of  ladies  who  have  been 
jealous  of  an  over-seductive  duodecimo  ;  as  perhaps  they 
might,  if  every  literary  husband  or  lover  were  like  the  col- 
legian in  Chaucer,  who  would  rather  have 

At  his  bed's  head, 
A  twenty  books,  clothed  in  black  or.  red, 
Of  Aristotle  and  his  philosophy, 
Than  robes  rich,  or  fiddle,  or  psaltry. 

And  yet  we  feel  that  we  could  very  well  like  them  too  at 
the  bed's  head,  without  at  all  diminishing  our  regard  for 


MEN    WEDDED    TO    BOOKS.  305 

what  should  be  at  the  bed's  heart.  We  could  sleep  under 
them  as  under  a  bower  of  imaginations.  We  are  one  of 
those  who  like  to  have  a  book  behind  one's  pillow,  even 
though  we  know  we  shall  not  touch  it.  It  is  like  having 
all  our  treasures  at  hand. 

But  if  people  are  to  be  wedded  to  their  books,  it  is  hard 
that  under  our  present  moral  dispensations,  they  are  not 
to  be  allowed  the  usual  exclusive  privileges  of  marriage. 
A  friend  thinks  no  more  of  borrowing  a  book  nowadays, 
than  a  Roman  did  of  borrowing  a  man's  wife ;  and  what  is 
worse,  we  are  so  far  gone  in  our  immoral  notions  on  this 
subject,  that  we  even  lend  it  as  easily  as  Cato  did  his 
spouse.  Now  what  a  happy  thing  ought  it  not  to  be  to 
have  exclusive  possession  of  a  book,  —  one's  Shakespeare, 
for  instance  ;  for  the  finer  the  wedded  work,  the  more 
anxious  of  course  we  should  be,  that  it  should  give  nobody 
happiness  but  ourselves.  Think  of  the  pleasure  not  only 
of  being  with  it  in  general,  of  having  by  far  the  greater 
part  of  its  company,  but  of  having  it  entirely  to  one's  self; 
of  always  saying  internally,  "  It  is  my  property ;  "  of  seeing 
it  well-dressed  in  "black  or  red,"  purely  to  please  one's 
own  eyes  ;  of  wondering  how  any  fellow  could  be  so  im- 
pudent as  to  propose  borrowing  it  for  an  evening ;  of  being 
at  once  proud  of  his  admiration,  and  pretty  certain  that  it 
was  in  vain ;  of  the  excitement  nevertheless  of  being  a 
little  uneasy  whenever  we  saw  him  approach  it  too  nearly ; 
of  wishing  that  it  could  give  him  a  cuff  of  the  cheek  with 
one  of  its  beautiful  boards,  for  presuming  to  like  its  beau- 
ties as  well  as  ourselves  ;  of  liking  other  people's  books, 
but  not  at  all  thinking  it  proper  that  they  should  like  ours ; 
of  getting  perhaps  indifferent  to  it,  and  then  comforting 
ourselves  with  the  reflection  that  others  are  not  so,  though 
to  no  purpose ;  in  short,  of  all  the  mixed  transport  and 


306  MEN    WEDDED    TO    BOOKS. 

anxiety  to  which  the  exclusiveness  of  the  book-wedded 
state  would  be  liable ;  not  to  mention  the  impossibility  of 
other  people's  having  any  literary  offspring  from  our  fair 
unique,  and  consequently  of  the  danger  of  loving  any 
compilations  but  our  own.  Really  if  we  could  burn  all 
other  copies  of  our  originals,  as  the  Roman  Emperor  once 
thought  of  destroying  Homer,  this  system  would  be  worth 
thinking  of.  If  we  had  a  good  library,  we  should  be  in 
the  situation  of  the  Turks  with  their  seraglios,  which  are 
a  great  improvement  upon  our  petty  exclusivenesses. 
Nobody  could  then  touch  our  Shakespeare,  our  Spenser, 
our  Chaucer,  our  Greek  and  Italian  writers.  People  might 
say,  "  Those  are  the  walls  of  the  library !  "  and  "  sigh, 
and  look,  and  sigh  again  ; "  but  they  should  never  get  in. 
No  Retrospective  rake  should  anticipate  our  privileges  of 
quotation.  Our  Mary  Woolstonecrafts  and  our  Madame 
de  Staels, — no  one  should  know  how  finely  they  were 
lettered,  —  what  soul  there  was  in  their  disquisitions.  We 
once  had  a  glimpse  of  the  feelings  which  people  would 
have  on  these  occasions.  It  was  in  the  library  of  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge.  The  keeper  of  it  was  from  home  ; 
and  not  being  able  to  get  a  sight  of  the  Manuscript  of 
Milton's  "  Comus,"  we  were  obliged  to  content  ourselves 
with  looking  through  a  wire  work,  a  kind  of  safe,  towards 
the  shelf  on  which  it  reposed.  How  we  winked,  and 
yearned,  and  imagined  we  saw  a  corner  of  the  all-precious 
sheets,  to  no  purpose  !  The  feelings  were  not  very  pleas- 
ant, it  is  true  ;  but  then  as  long  as  they  were  confined  to 
others,  they  would  of  course  only  add  to  our  satisfaction. 

But  to  come  to  our  extract;  for  not  being  quite  recov- 
ered yet  from  our  late  ill-health,  we  mean  to  avail  ourselves 
of  it  still.  It  is  remarkable,  as  the  Reviewer  has  ob- 
served, for  "  a  wonderful  power  over  the  resources  of  our 


MEN   WEDDED    TO    BOOKS.  307 

language."  The  original  is  in  the  "  Prolusions  of  Strada," 
where  it  is  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  celebrated  Castig- 
lione,  as  an  imitation  of  the  style  of  Claudian.  From  all 
that  we  recollect  of  that  florid  poet,  the  imitation,  to  say 
the  least  of  it,  is  quite  as  good  as  any  thing  in  himself. 
Indeed,  as  a  description  of  the  niceties  of  a  musical  per- 
formance, we  remember  nothing  in  him  that  can  come  up 
to  it.  But  what  will  astonish  the  reader,  in  addition  to  the 
exquisite  tact  with  which  "  Strada "  is  rendered  by  the 
translator,  is  his  having  trebled  the  whole  description,  and 
with  an  equal  minuteness  in  his  exuberance.  We  cannot 
stop  to  enter  into  the  detail  of  the  enjoyment,  as  we 
would ;  and  indeed  we  should  not  know  perhaps  how  to 
express  our  sense  of  it  but  by  repeating  his  masterly 
niceties  about  the  "  clear  unwrinkled  song,"  the  "  warbling 
doubt  of  dallying  sweetness,"  the  "  ever-bubbling  spring," 
the  kindling  of  the  bird's 

"  soft  voice 
In  the  close  murmur  of  a  sparkling  noise," 

the  "  quavering  coyness,"  with  which  the  musician  "  tastes 
the  strings,"  the  "  surges  of  swoln  rhapsodies,"  the  "  full- 
mouthed  diapason  swallowing  all ; "  and,  in  short,  the  whole 
"pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance"  of  masterly  playing, 
from  its  lordly  sweep  over  the  full  instrument  to  the 
"  capering  cheerfulness  "  of  a  guitar  accompaniment.  The 
man  of  letters  will  admire  the  power  of  language  ;  and  to 
the  musician  and  other  lovers  of  music  we  are  sure  we  are 
affording  a  great  treat.  Numbers  of  them  will  never  have 
found  their  sensations  so  well  analyzed  before.  Part  of  the 
poetry,  it  is  true,  is  in  a  false  and  overcharged  taste  ;  but 
in  general  the  exuberance  is  as  true  as  it  is  surprising,  for 
the  subject  is  exuberant  and  requires  it. 
We  should  observe,  before  the  concert  begins,  that 


308  MUSICAL    DUEL. 

Castiglione  is  represented  by  Strada  as  having  been  pres- 
ent at  this  extraordinary  duel  himself;  and  however  fabu- 
lous this  may  seem,  there  is  a  letter  extant  from  Bartolomeo 
Ricci  to  Giambattista  Pigna,  contemporaries  of  Tasso,  in 
which  he  says,  that  Antoriiano,  a  celebrated  improvisatore 
of  those  times,  playing  on  the  lute  after  a  rural  dinner  which 
the  writer  had  given  to  his  friends,  provoked  a  nightingale 
to  contend  with  him  in  the  same  manner.  Dr.  Black,  in 
his  "  Life  of  Tasso,"  by  way  of  note  upon  this  letter,  quotes 
a  passage  from  Sir  William  Jones,  strongly  corroborating 
such  stories  ;  and  indeed,  when  we  know  what  parrots  and 
other  birds  can  do,  especially  in  imitating  and  answering 
each  other,  and  hear  the  extravagant  reports  to  which  the 
powers  of  the  nightingale  have  given  rise,  such  as  the 
story  of  an  actual  dialogue  in  Buffon,  we  can  easily  imagine 
that  the  groundwork  of  the  relation  may  not  be  a  mere 
fable.  "An  intelligent  Persian,"  says  Sir  William,  " de- 
clared he  had  more  than  once  been  present,  when  a  cele- 
brated lutanist,  surnamed  Bulbul  (the  nightingale),  was 
playing  to  a  large  company  in  a  grove  near  Shiraz,  where 
he  distinctly  saw  the  nightingales  trying  to  vie  with  the 
musician ;  sometimes  warbling  on  the  trees,  sometimes 
fluttering  from  branch  to  branch,  as  if  they  wished  to  ap- 
proach the  instrument,  and  at  length  dropping  on  the 
ground  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy,  from  which  they  were  soon 
raised,  he  assured  me,  by  a  change  in  the  mode." 

music's  duel. 

Now  westward  Sol  had  spent  the  richest  beams 
Of  noon's  high  glory,  when  hard  by  the  streams 
Of  Tiber,  on  the  scene  of  a  green  plat, 
Under  protection  of  an  oak,  there  sat 
A  sweet  lute's-master :  in  whose  gentle  airs 
He  lost  the  day's  heat  and  his  own  hot  cares. 
Close  in  the  covert  of  the  leaves  there  stood 


MUSICAL    DUEL.  309 

A  nightingale,  come  from  the  neighbouring  wood  ; 

(The  sweet  inhabitant  of  each  glad  tree, 

Their  muse,  their  syren,  harmless  syren  she) 

There  stood  she  list'ning,  and  did  entertain 

The  music's  soft  report :  and  mould  the  same 

In  her  own  murmurs,  that  whatever  mood 

His  curious  fingers  lent,  her  voice  made  good : 

The  man  perceiv'd  his  rival  and  her  art, 

DisposM  to  give  the  light-foot  lady  sport 

Awakes  his  lute,  and  'gainst  the  fight  to  come 

Informs  it,  in  a  sweet  praludium 

Of  closer  strains ;  and  ere  the  war  begin, 

He  lightly  skirmishes  on  every  string, 

Charged  with  a  flying  touch  :  and  straightway  she 

Carves  out  her  dainty  voice  as  readily, 

Into  a  thousand  sweet  distinguish'd  tones, 

And  reckons  up  in  soft  divisions, 

Quick  volumes  of  wild  notes  ;  to  let  him  know 

By  that  shrill  taste,  she  could  do  something  too. 

His  nimble  hands'  instinct  then  taught  each  string 
A  capering  cheerfulness,  and  made  them  sing 
To  their  own  dance  ;  now  negligently  rash 
He  throws  his  arm,  and  with  a  long-drawn  dash 
Blends  all  together  ;  then  distinctly  trips 
From  this  to  that ;  then  quick  returning  skips 
And  snatches  this  again,  and  pauses  there. 
She  measures  every  measure,  everywhere 
Meets  art  with  art ;  sometimes,  as  if  in  doubt, 
Not  perfect  yet,  and  fearing  to  be  out, 
Trails  her  plain  ditty  in  one  long-spun  note, 
Through  the  sleek  passage  of  her  open  throat, 
A  clear  unwrinkled  song ;  then  doth  she  point  it 
With  tender  accents,  and  severely  joint  it 
By  short  diminutives,  that  being  rear'd 
In  controverting  warbles  evenly  shar'd, 
With  her  sweet  self  s/ie  wrangles.     He  amaz'd 
That  from  so  small  a  channel  should  be  rais'd 
The  torrent  of  a  voice,  whose  melody 
Could  melt  into  such  sweet  variety, 
Strains  higher  yet,  that  tickled  with  rare  art 
The  tattling  strings  (each  breathing  in  his  part) 
Most  kindly  do  fall  out ;  the  grumbling  base 
In  surly  groans  disdains  the  treble's  grace  : 


3IO  MUSICAL    DUEL. 

The  high-perch'd  treble  chirps  at  this,  and  chides, 
Until  his  finger  (moderator)  hides 
And  closes  the  sweet  quarrel,  rousing  all 
Hoarse,  shrill,  at  once  ;  as  when  the  trumpets  call 
Hot  Mars  to  th'  harvest  of  death's  field,  and  woo 
Men's  hearts  into  their  hands :  this  lesson  too 
She  gives  him  back ;  her  supple  breast  thrills  out 
Sharp  airs,  and  staggers  in  a  warbling  doubt 
Of  dallying  sweetness,  hovers  o'er  her  skill, 
And  folds  in  wav'd  notes,  with  a  trembling  bill, 
The  pliani  series  of  her  slippery  song  ; 
Then  starts  she  suddenly  into  a  throng 
Of  short  thick  sobs,  whose  thund'ring  volleys  float, 
A  nd  roll  themselves  over  her  lubric  throat 
In  panting  murmurs,  stiWd  out  of  her  breast. 
That  ever-bubbling  spring,  the  sugar 'd  nest 
Of  her  delicious  sozd,  that  there  does  lie 
Bathing  in  streams  of  liquid  melody ; 
Music's  best  seed-plot,  where,  in  ripen'd  airs 
A  golden-headed  harvest  fairly  rears 
His  honey-dropping  tops,  plow'd  by  he   breath 
Which  there  reciprocally  laboureth. 
In  that  sweet  soil,  it  seems  a  holy  choir, 
Founded  to  th'  name  of  great  Apollo's  lyit, 
Whose  silver  roof  rings  with  the  sprightly  notes 
Of  sweep-lipp'd  angel-imps,  that  swill  their  throats 
In  cream  of  morning  Helicon,  and  then 
Prefer  soft  anthems  to  the  ears  of  men, 
To  woo  them  from  their  beds,  still  murmuring 
That  men  can  sleep  while  they  their  matins  sing : 
(Most  divine  service)  whose  so  early  lay 
Prevents  the  eye-lids  of  the  blushing  day ! 
There  you  might  hear  her  kindle  her  soft  voice 
In  the  close  murmur  of  a  sparkling  noise, 
And  lay  the  ground-work  of  her  hopeful  song, 
Still  keeping  in  the  forward  stream,  so  long 
Till  a  sweet  whirlwind  (striving  to  get  out) 
Heaves  her  soft  bosom,  wanders  round  about, 
And  makes  a  pretty  earthquake  in  her  breast. 
Till  the  fledg'd  notes  at  length  forsake  their  nest, 
Fluttering  in  wanton  shoals,  and  to  the  sky, 
Wing'd  with  their  own  wild  echoes,  prattling  fly. 
She  opes  the  floodgate,  and  lets  loose  a  tide 


MUSICAL    DUEL.  3II 

Of  streaming  sweetness,  which  in  state  doth  ride 

On  the  wav'd  back  of  every  swelling  strain, 

Rising  and  falling  in  a  pompous  train. 

And  while  she  thus  discharges  a  shrill  peal 

Of  flashing  airs,  site  qualifies  their  zeal 

With  the  cool  epode  of  a  graver  note, 

Thus  high,  thus  low,  as  if  her  silver  throat 

Would  reach  the  brazen  voice  of  war's  hoarse  bird  ; 

Her  little  soul  is  ravish'd :  and  so  pour'd 

Into  loose  ecstasies,  that  she  is  plac'd 

Above  herself,  music's  enthusiast. 

Shame  now  and  anger  mix'd  a  double  strain 
In  the  musician's  face  ;  yet  once  again, 
Mistress,  I  come  ;  now  reach  a  strain,  my  lute, 
Above  her  mock,  or  be  forever  mute. 
But  tune  a  song  of  victory  to  me  ; 
As  to  thyself,  sing  thine  own  obsequy ; 
So  said,  his  hands  sprightly  as  fire  he  flings, 
A  nd  with  a  quavering  coyness  tastes  the  strings, 
The  sweet-lip'd  sisters  musically  frighted, 
Singing  their  fears,  are  fearfully  delighted. 
Trembling  as  when  Apollo's  golden  hairs 
Are  fann'd  and  frizzled  in  the  wanton  airs 
Of  his  own  breath :  which,  married  to  his  lyre, 
Doth  tune  the  spheres,  and  make  heaven's  self  look  higher. 
From  this  to  that.,  front  that  to  this  he  flies, 
Feels  music's  pulse  in  all  her  arteries, 
Caught  in  a  net  which  there  Apollo  spreads, 
His  fingers  struggle  with  the  vocal  threads, 
Following  those  little  rills,  he  sinks  into 
A  sea  of  Helicon ;  his  hand  does  go 
Those  parts  of  sweetness  which  with  nectar  drop, 
Softer  than  that  which  pants  in  Hebe's  cup. 
The  humourous  strings  expound  his  learned  touch 
By  various  glosses  ;  now  they  seem  to  grutch, 
And  murmur  in  a  buzzing  din,  then  gingle 
In  shrill-tongu'd  accents,  striving  to  be  single. 
Even-  smooth  turn,  every  delicious  stroke 
Gives  life  to  some  new  grace  ;  thus  doth  invoke 
Sweetness  by  all  her  names  ;  thus,  bravely  thus 
(Fraught  with  a  fury  so  harmonious) 
The  lute;s  light  genius  now  does  proudly  rise, 
Heaved  on  the  surges  of  swoln  rhapsodies, 


312  MUSICAL    DUEL. 

Whose  flourish  (meteor-like)  doth  curl  the  air 

With  flash  of  high-born  fancies ;  here  and  there 

Dancing  in  lotty  measures,  and  anon 

Creeps  on  the  soft  touch  of  a  tender  tone  : 

Whose  trembling  murmurs  melting  in  ivild  airs 

Run  to  and  fro,  complaining  his  sweet  cares  I 

Because  those  precious  mysteries  that  dwell 

In  music's  ravish'd  soul  he  dares  not  tell, 

But  whisper  to  the  world  :  thus  do  they  vary, 

Each  string  his  note,  as  if  they  meant  to  carry 

Their  master's  blest  soul  (snatch'd  out  at  his  ears 

By  a  strong  ecstasy)  through  all  the  spheres 

Of  music's  heaven,  and  seat  it  there  on  high 

In  th'  empyreum  of  pure  harmony. 

At  length,  (after  so  long,  so  loud  a  strife 

Of  all  the  strings,  still  breathing  the  best  life 

Of  blest  variety,  attending  on 

His  fingers'  fairest  revolution, 

In  many  a  sweet  rise,  many  as  sweet  a  fall) 

A  full-mouth' d  diapason  swallows  all. 

This  done,  he  lists  what  she  would  say  to  this, 
And  she,  although  her  breath's  late  exercise 
Had  dealt  too  roughly  with  her  tender  throat, 
Yet  summons  all  her  sweet  powers  for  a  note. 
Alas !  in  vain  !  for  while  (sweet  soul)  she  tries 
To  measure  all  those  wild  diversities 
Of  chatt'ring  strings,  by  the  small  size  of  one 
Poor  simple  voice,  rais'd  in  a  natural  tone ; 
She  fails,  and  failing  grieves,  and  grieving  dies. 
She  dies :  and  leaves  her  life  the  victor's  prize, 
Falling  upon  his  lute ;  O  fit  to  have 
(That  liv'd  so  sweetly)  dead,  so  sweet  a  grave  ! 

This  exquisite  story  has  had  another  relator  in  Ford, 
the  dramatist,  and  according  to  a  great  authority,  a  finer 
one.*  The  passage  is  very  beautiful,  certainly,  especially 
in  the  outset  about  Greece  ;  and  if  the  story  is  to  be  taken 


*  Charles  Lamb ;  who  says,  in  one  of  the  notes  to  his  "  Specimens  of 
English  Dramatic  Poets,"  "This  story,  which  is  originally  to  be  met  with  in 
'  Strada's  Prolusions,'  has  been  paraphrased  in  rhyme  by  Crashaw,  Ambrose 


MUSICAL    DUEL.  313 

as  a  sentiment,  it  must  be  allowed  to  surpass  the  other  ; 
but  as  an  account  of  the  Duel  itself,  it  is  assuredly  as 
different  as  playing  is  from  no  playing.  Sentiment,  how- 
ever, completes  everything,  and  we  hope  our  readers  will 
enjoy  with  us  the  concluding  from  Ford :  — 

Mtttaphon.     Passing  from  Italy  to  Greece,  the  tales 
Which  poets  of  an  elder  time  have  feign'd 
To  glorify  their  Tempe,  bred  in  me 
Desire  of  visiting  that  paradise. 
To  Thessaly  I  came,  and  living  private, 
Without  acquaintance  of  more  sweet  companions 
Than  the  old  inmates  to  my  love,  my  thoughts, 
I  day  by  day  frequented  silent  groves 
And  solitary  walks.     One  morning  early 
This  accident  encounter'd  me :  I  heard 
The  sweetest  and  most  ravishing  contention 
That  art  and  nature  ever  were  at  strife  in. 

A  methus.    I  cannot  yet  conceive  what  you  infer 
By  art  and  nature 

Men.  I  shall  soon  resolve  ye. 

A  sound  of  music  touch'd  mine  ears,  or  rather 
Indeed  entranc'd  my  soul ;  as  I  stole  nearer, 
Invited  by  the  melody,  I  saw 
This  youth,  this  fair-fac'd  youth,  upon  his  lute, 
With  strains  of  strange  variety  and  harmony, 
Proclaiming,  as  it  seem'd,  so  bold  a  challenge 
To  the  clear  choristers  of  the  woods,  the  birds, 
That  as  they  flock'd  about  him,  all  stood  silent, 
Wond'ring  at  what  they  heard.     I  wonder'd  too. 

A  met.     And  so  do  I ;  good,  on  ! 

Men.  A  nightingale, 

Nature's  best  skill'd  musician,  undertakes 
The  challenge,  and  for  ev'ry  several  strain 
The  well-shap'd  youth  could  touch,  she  sung  her  down ; 
He  could  not  run  division  with  more  art 
Upon  his  quaking  instrument,  than  she, 

Phillips,  and  others ;  but  none  of  these  versions  can  at  all  compare  for  harmony 
and  grace  with  this  blank  verse  of  Ford's  ;  it  is  as  fine  as  anything  in  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher :  and  almost  equals  the  strife  it  celebrates."  —  Ed. 


314  MUSICAL    DUEL. 

The  nightingale,  did  with  her  various  notes 
Reply  to.     For  a  voice,  and  for  a  sound, 
Amethus,  'tis  much  easier  to  believe 
That  such  they  were,  than  hope  to  hear  again. 

A  met.     How  did  the  rivals  part  ? 

Men.  You  term  them  rightly, 

For  they  were  rivals,  and  their  mistress  harmony. 
Some  time  thus  spent,  the  young  man  grew  at  last 
Into  a  pretty  anger,  that  a  bird 
Whom  art  had  never  taught  clefs,  moods,  or  notes, 
Should  vie  with  him  for  mastery,  whose  study 
Had  busied  many  hours  to  perfect  practice : 
To  end  the  controversy,  in  a  rapture 
Upon  his  instrument  he  plays  so  swiftly, 
So  many  voluntaries,  and  so  quick, 
That  there  was  curiosity  and  cunning, 
C*ncord  in  discord,  lines  of  diff 'ring  method 
Meeting  in  one  full  centre  of  delight. 

A  met.     Now  for  the  bird. 

Men.  The  bird,  ordain 'd  to  be 

Music's  first  martyr,  strove  to  imitate 
These  several  sounds  :  which,  when  her  warbling  throat 
Fail'd  in,  for  grief  down  dropp'd  she  on  his  lute 
And  brake  her  heart.     It  was  the  quaintest  sadness, 
To  see  the  conqueror  upon  her  hearse, 
To  weep  a  funeral  elegy  of  tears, 
That,  trust  me,  my  Amethus,  I  could  chide 
Mine  own  unmanly  weakness,  that  made  me 
A  fellow-mourner  with  him. 

A  met.  I  believe  thee. 

Men.     He  look'd  upon  the  trophies  of  his  art, 
Then  sigh'd,  then  wip'd  his  eyes,  then  sigh'd  and  cried, 
"  Alas,  poor  creature  !  I  will  soon  revenge 
This  cruelty  upon  the  author  of  it ; 
Henceforth  this  lute,  guilty  of  innocent  blood, 
Shall  never  more  betray  a  harmless  peace 
To  an  untimely  end  :  "  and  in  that  sorrow, 
As  he  was  dashing  it  against  a  tree, 
I  suddenly  stept  in. 


THE   MURDERED   PUMP.  315 

THE    MURDERED    PUMP. 

A   STORY   OF   A   WINTER'S   NIGHT. 

HE  hero  of  the  following  sketch  is  a  real  per- 
son, and  the  main  points  in  it,  the  pump  and 
the  refuge  in  the  cellar,  are  recorded  as  facts. 
The  latter  took  place  in  the  house  of  Sir  John 
Trevor,  the  Master  of  the  Rolls,  a  kinsman 
of  Mr.  Lloyd's,  who  was  a  proud  and  irritable  Welshman. 

Time.     The  Beginning  0/  the  Last  Century. 

Scene.     A    Fog  in  Holborn  towards  Davm.     Enter  Two  Middle-aged 

Gentlemen,  0/  the  names  of  Lane  and  Lloyd,  coming  towards  an  old 

Pump 

Lane.     You're  so  quarrelsome,  when  you  drink. 

Lloyd,     (Hiccuping.)     No,  I  ain't. 

Lane.     Always  contradicting  everybody. 

Lloyd.     (Hiccuping.)     No,  I  ain't. 

Lane.     So  eager  to  say  No,  merely  because  other  people  say  Yes. 

Lloyd.     (Hiccuping.)     No,  I  ain't. 

Lane.     Why,  you  do  it  this  very  instant 

Lloyd.     No,  I  don't. 

Lane.     You  can't  say  Yes,  if  you  would. 

Lloyd.    (Hiccuping.)    Yes,  I  can. 

Lane.  No,  you  can't.  Your  very  Yes  is  a  No.  You  merely  say  it  to 
contradict. 

Lloyd.     No,  I  don't. 

Lane.  Pooh,  nonsense  !  And  then  you  must  draw  your  sword,  forsooth, 
and  add  fury  to  folly.  You'll  get  some  tremendous  lesson  some  day,  and  you 
really  need  it.     I  should  like  to  give  it  you. 

Lloyd.     ( Violently.')    Take  care,  George  Lane.     (Lloyd  stumbles?) 

Lane.  Take  you  care,  of  the  gutter.  I  shan't  pick  you  up.  I  shall  leave 
you  to  cool  yourself. 

Lloyd.     (Hiccuping.)     No,  you  won't. 

Lane.  Oh,  what,  you  remember  my  carrying  you  home  last  Thursday,  do 
you  ?    And  this  is  your  gratitude. 


316 


THE    MURDERED    PUMP. 


Lloyd.    Damn  gratitude  !     I'll  not  be  insulted. 

Lane.  Yes,  you  will, — by  forgiveness.  You'll  insult  others,  and  be  for- 
given. 

Lloyd.  No,  I  won't.  Nobody  shall  forgive  Roderick  Lloyd.  I  should 
like  to  see  'em.  (Standing  still,  flitting  his  Jtand  on  his  siuord,  and  trying 
to  speak  very  loudly.)  Who  forgives  me  ?  Who  forgives  Lloyd,  I  say?  Come 
into  the  court,  you  rascal. 

Lane.    (Laughing.)    Come  along.     Nonsense. 

Lloyd.     Who  forgives  Roderick  Lloyd,  —  Promontory,  Pro — thonotary  of — 

Lane.  Of  North  Wales,  Marshal  to  Baron  Price,  and  so  forth.  Come 
along,  and  don't  be  an  ass. 

Lloyd.  Fire  and  fury  !  A  what?  (Drawing  his  sword,  and  coming  on.) 
A  prothonotary  called  —  (He  stumbles  against  the  Pump.)  Who  the  devil 
are  you  ?    Get  out  of  the  way. 

Lane.     (Aside.)    A  good  thing,  faith.     He  shall  have  it  out. 

Lloyd.     (To  the  Pump.)     Who  are  you,  I  say  ?     Why  don't  you  speak ? 

Lane.     He  says  you  may  go  to  the  devil. 

Lloyd.    The  devil  he  does  !    Draw,  you  scoundrel,  or  you're  a  dead  man. 

Lane.    He  stands  as  stiff  as  a  post. 

Lloyd.     (Furiously.)     Draw,  you  infernal  fool. 

Lane.  He  says  he  defies  your  toasting-fork,  and  your  Welsh-rabbit  to 
boot. 

Lloyd.     Blood  and  thunder  !     (He  runs  the  Pump  through  tlie  body.) 

Lane.     Good  Heavens,  Lloyd  !  what  have  you  done  ?    We  must  be  off. 

Lloyd.  Pink'd  an  infernal  Welsh-rabbit  —  I  mean  a  toasting,  damnation 
prothonotary.     Who's  afraid? 

Lane.  Come  along,  man.  This  way,  this  way.  Here,  down  the  lane. 
The  constables  are  coming,  and  you've  done  it  at  last,  by  Heavens  ! 

[Exeunt  down  Chancery  Lane. 

Scene  II.    Daylight  in  a  cellar.     Lloyd  and  Lane  discovered  listening. 

Lane.  It's  nobody,  depend  on't.  It's  too  early.  Nobody  is  stirring  yet. 
Don't  be  down-hearted,  Rory.  You're  a  brave  man,  you  know;  and  the 
worse  the  luck,  the  greater  the  lion. 

Lloyd.     But  I've  left  my  sword  in  him. 

Lane.     No,  have  you  though  ?    That's  unlucky. 

Lloyd.  Oh,  that  punch,  that  punch!  and  that  cursed  fool  —  poor  fool,  I 
should  say,  —  Progers.  I  shall  come  to  shame,  George.  Oh,  I  shall.  To 
shame  and  to  suffering.     (He  -walks  to  and  fro.) 

Lane.     No,  no.     The  sword  had  no  name  on  it  ? 

Lloyd.    Yes,  it  had. 

Lane.     But  only  initials. 


THE    MURDERED   PUMP.  317 

Lloyd.     No.     Full  length. 

Lane.     What,  titles  and  all  ?    Roderick  Lloyd,  Prothono— 

Lloyd.  No,  no.  But  name  and  address.  Oh,  wouldn't  it  be  better  if  you 
would  go  out  and  see  how  matters  are  going  on  ? 

Lane.  Whats  the  crowd,  and  all  that  ?  No,  I  think  best  not.  We  are  too 
well  known  hereabouts. 

Lloyd.     Then  why  didn't  you  go  further? 

Lane.  You  were  too  far  gone  already,  Rory.  I  don't  mean  to  jest  You 
can't  suppose  me  guilty  of  that.  But  it's  a  phrase,  you  know.  You  were  very 
drunk,  and  to  say  the  truth,  very  wilful. 

Lloyd.     Oh,  I  was,  I  was. 

Lane.     You  wouldn't  be  guided  at  all. 

Lloyd.     Too  true,  too  true. 

Lane.  I  was  twenty  minutes  getting  you  away  from  that  apple-woman,  and 
half  an  hour,  I'm  sure,  in  persuading  you  to  rise  from  the  door-way.  {Lloyd 
groans.)  Then  you  wouldn't  let  me  take  your  sword  (for  I  was  afraid  of  some 
mischief),  and  you  must  have  stood,  I  think,  ten  minutes  against  that  shop- 
window,  damning  us  all  round  —  all  the  friends  you  had  been  disputing  with. 

Lloyd.  Oh,  don't  tell  me  all  that  again.  It's  cruel  of  you,  George.  Listen  I 
great  Heavens,  listen  ! 

Lane.     It's  only  some  milkman. 

Lloyd.  Only  a  milkman  I  How  do  you  know?  Besides,  what  do  you 
mean  by  "only  a  milkman?"  Can't  a  milkman  hang  me?  Can't  a  milk- 
man be  furious  ?  furious  about  a  man  that's  killed  ? 

Lane.  Pray,  sit  down,  and  be  easy.  Sir  John,  'tis  true,  doesn't  appear  ; 
but  that's  his  way.  He  never  stands  by  a  friend,  you  know ;  that  is  to  say, 
openly.  But  secretly  he  can  do  any  thing  ;  and  he  will.  I  tell  you  again, 
that  I  woke  him  directly  we  came  into  the  house,  and  he  gave  me  his  solemn 
oath  that  he  would  smuggle  you  into  Wales,  in  the  boot  of  his  carriage.  It  is 
not  a  very  big  boot,  but  it's  better  than  nothing. 

Lloyd.  Oh,  a  paradise,  a  paradise,  if  I  were  but  in  it.  But  repeat  to  me, 
George.  What  sort  of  a  man  was  it  that  I  had  the  misfortune  to  —  to  — .  Tell 
me  he  was  a  bad  fellow  at  any  rate  —  a  mohawk  —  a  gallows  bird,  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort. 

Lane.  I  wish  I  could.  But  he  was  a  young  gentleman,  plainly  in  liquor 
himself 

Lloyd.     Didn't  he  carry  himself  very  stiffly  ? 

Lane.     Wonderfully,  but  with  a  sort  of  innocence  too. 

Lloyd.     But  he  said  insulting  things. 

Lane.     Not  he.    That  was  your  fancy. 

Lloyd.     What,  didn't  he  tell  me  to  go  to  the  devil,  and  all  that? 

Lane.  Not  a  bit  He  was  quite  silent,  and,  in  fact,  evidently  did  not  hear 
a  word  you  uttered. 


3*8 


THE    MURDERED    PUMP. 


Lloyd.  How  strange,  how  horribly  strange  !  and  that  I  should  have  had 
all  those  drunken  fancies  1  » 

Lane.  That's  your  way,  you  know,  owing  to  your  confounded  temper.  I 
beg  your  pardon. 

Lloyd.     Oh,  I  beg  yours — everybody's  —  his.  • 

Lane.  You  do  ?  Roderick  Lloyd  beg  pardon  1  Is  it  positively  come  to 
that  ?  to  that,  which  you  have  sworn  a  thousand  times  you  would  never  do 
to  any  man  living,  be  the  circumstances  what  they  might.  Well,  this  is  a 
change.  Ah,  ha!  {Laughing.)  A  change  and  a  lesson,  eh,  Rory?  And 
you'll  be  a  good  boy,  and  never  do  the  like  again,  I  suppose  ? 

Lloyd.  {Astonished.)  What  has  come  to  you ?  Is  this  kindness?  Is  this 
humanity? 

Lane.  Yes,  Rory,  very  good  kindness  indeed,  and  very  good  humanity ; 
for  I  have  now  a  piece  of  news  to  tell  you,  that  will  pay  you  for  all  you  have 
suffered,  and  me  for  all  that  you  have  ever  made  me  suffer ;  for  what  with 
frights  for  you,  and  perils  of  fights  for  you,  and  some  three  or  four  flounderings 
in  the  gutter,  there  has  been  no  mean  balance,  let  me  tell  you,  on  the  side  of 
your  old  friend.  So,  mark  me,  you  didn't  leave  your  sword  in  the  man,  for  I've 
got  it ;  and  you  didn't  do  him  any  mischief  at  all,  for  you  couldn't ;  and  he  was 
no  man  whatsoever,  Rory,  for  he  was  a  Pump. 

Lloyd.  A  Pump?  —  Swear  it.  Shout  it.  Make  me  sure  of  it  somehow  or 
other,  and  I'm  in  heaven. 

Lane.  {Tenderly.)  Do  you  think  I'd  play  with  you,  Rory,  any  longer, 
and  in  a  way  like  this  ? 

(Here  Mr.  Roderick  Lloyd,  Prothonotary  of  North  Wales,  after  em- 
bracing his  friend,  jumps  and  dances  in  ecstasy  about  the  cellar. ) 

Lloyd.  By  Heaven,  it's  almost  worth  going  through  misery,  in  order  to 
taste  of  such  happiness. 

Lane.  That's  one  of  the  very  points  I  have  so  often  insisted  on  in  our  dis- 
putes.    Hail  to  your  new  metaphysics,  Rory  ;  —  to  your  enlightened  theosophy. 

Lloyd.  Come ;  let's  to  breakfast  then  somewhere,  out  of  this  infernal 
cellar.  I  own  my  lesson,  George.  You  might  have  let  me  off  too,  a  little  sooner, 
I  think,  eh?     Spared  me  a  few  sharp  sentences.     {They  prepare  to  go.) 

Lane.     I'm  afraid  you're  growing  a  little  disconcerted,  Rory. 

Lloyd.     No,  I  ain't;  but  — 

Lane.    A  little  contradictory  again. 

Lloyd.     No,  I  ain't ;  but  — 

Lane.    You  contradict  me,  however,  as  usual. 

Lloyd.  No,  I  don't.  Oh,  damn  it,  come  along.  {Looking  red,  and 
laughing  with  his  companion. )    You  won't  tell  anybody,  will  you,  George  ? 

Lane.  Haven't  I  the  blood  of  the  Lloyds  in  me.  Am  I  not  a  gentleman, 
Rory? 

Lloyd.    You  are,  you  are.     So  we  will  drink  gallons  of  tea  to  settle  that 


CHRISTMAS    EVE    AND    CHRISTMAS    DAY.        319 

confounded  punch;  and,  I  think,  I'll  never  say  "No,  I  don't"  as  long  as  I 
live ;  at  least  not  to  you,  my  boy  ;  that  is  to  say,  if  you  behave  yourself 

Latu.    Ah,  you  feel  a  little  angry  with  me  still. 

Lloyd.  No,  I  —  (Lane  laughs.)  Damn  it  Well,  I  do;  but  not  half  so 
angry  as  happy,  either.    So,  come  along.  {Exeunt. 


CHRISTMAS   EVE  AND   CHRISTMAS   DAY. 

F  the  three  great  annual  holidays,  Christmas 
day  is,  for  many  reasons,  the  greatest ;  and' 
one  reason  among  others  is,  that  it  stands  out 
of  the  winter-time,  the  first  and  warmest  of 
them.  It  is  the  eye  and  fire  of  the  season,  as 
the  fire  is  of  Christmas  and  of  one's  room.  We  have  al- 
ways loved  it,  and  ever  shall ;  first  (to  give  a  child's  rea- 
son, and  a  very  good  one,  too,  in  this  instance),  because 
Christmas  day  is  Christmas  day  ;  second  (which  is  included 
in  that  reason,  or  rather  includes  it,  for  it  is  the  greatest), 
because  of  a  high  argument,  which  will  more  properly 
stand  by  itself  at  the  close  of  this  article  ;  third,  because 
of  the  hollies  and  other  evergreens  which  people  conspire 
to  bring  into  cities  and  houses  on  this  day,  making  a  kind 
of  summer  in  winter,  and  reminding  us  that  — 

"  The  poetry  of  earth  is  never  dead  ;  " 

fourth,  because  we  were  brought  up  in  a  cloistered  school,* 
where  carols  had  not  gone  out  of  fashion,  and  used  to  sit 
in  circles  round  huge  fires,  fit  to  roast  an  ox,  making  in- 
conceivable bliss  out  of  cakes  and  sour  oranges ;  fifth, 
because  of  the  fine  things  which  the  poets  and  others  have 

*  Christ's  Hospital. 


320       CHRISTMAS    EVE    AND    CHRISTMAS    DAY. 

said  of  it ;  sixth,  because  there  is  no  business  going  on,  — 
"  Mammon "  is  suspended ;  and  seventh,  because  New- 
Year's-day  and  Twelfth-day  come  after  it ;  that  is  to  say, 
because  it  is  the  leader  of  a  set  of  holidays,  and  the  spirit  is 
not  beaten  down  into  commonplace  the  moment  it  is  over. 
It  closes  and  begins  the  year  with  cheerfulness.  We  have 
collected,  under  the  head  of  "  The  Week,"*  some  notices 
of  the  other  principal  points  connected  with  Christmas. 
Most  of  them  are  now  losing  their  old  lustre,  only  to  give 
way,  we  trust,  by  and  by,  to  better  evidences  of  rejoicing. 
The  beadle  we  can  dispense  with,  and  even  the  Christmas- 
boxes  ;  especially  as  we  hope  nobody  will  then  want  them. 
And  the  "  Bellman's  Verses  "  shall  turn  to  something  no- 
bler, albeit  we  have  a  liking  for  him ;  ay,  for  his  very 
absurdities  ;  there  is  something  in  them  so  old,  so  unpre- 
tending, and  so  reminiscent  about  him.  As  long  as  the 
bellman  is  alive,  one's  grandfather  does  not  seem  dead, 
and  his  cocked  hat  lives  with  him.  Good  "  Bellman's 
Verses  "  will  not  do  at  all.  There  have  been  some  such 
things  of  late,  "  most  tolerable  and  not  to  be  endured." 
We  have  even  seen  them  witty,  which  is  a  great  mistake. 
Warton  and  Cowper  unthinkingly  set  the  way  to  them. 
You  may  be  childlike  at  Christmas  ;  you  may  be  merry ; 
you  may  be  absurd,  —  in  the  worldly  sense  of  the  term ; 
but  you  must  write  with  a  faith,  and  so  redeem  your  old 
Christmas  reputation  somehow.  Belief  in  something  great 
and  good  preserves  a  respectability,  even  in  the  most  child- 
ish mistakes ;  but  it  feels  that  the  company  of  banter  is 
unworthy  of  it.  The  very  absurdity  of  the  "  Bellman's 
Verses  "  is  only  bearable,  nay,  only  pleasant,  when  we  sup- 


*  A  column  of  original  and  selected  miscellany  published  under  this  caption 
in  the  "  London  Journal."  —  Ed. 


CHRISTMAS    EVE    AND    CHRISTMAS    DAY.       32 1 

pose  them  written  by  some  actual  doggerel-poet  in  good 
faith.  Mere  mediocrity  hardly  allows  us  to  give  our 
Christmas-box,  or  to  believe  it  nowadays  in  earnest ;  and 
the  smartness  of  your  cleverest  worldly-wise  men  is  felt  to 
be  wholly  out  of  place.  No,  no ;  give  us  the  good  old 
decrepit  "Bellman's  Verses,"  hobbling  as  their  bringer, 
and  taking  themselves  for  something  respectable  like  his 
cocked-hat,  or  give  us  none  at  all.  We  should  not  like 
even  to  see  him  in  a  round  hat.  He  would  lose  something 
of  the  old  and  oracular  by  it.  If  in  a  round  hat,  he  should 
keep  out  of  sight,  and  not  contradict  the  portrait  of  him- 
self at  the  top  of  his  sheet  of  verses,  with  his  bell  and  his 
beadle's  staff.  The  pictures  round  the  verses  may  be  new  ; 
but  we  like  the  old  better,  no  matter  how  worn-out,  pro- 
vided the  subject  be  discernible  ;  no  matter  what  blots  for 
the  eyes,  and  muddiness  for  the  clouds.  The  worst  of 
these  old  wood-cuts  are  often  copied  from  good  pictures  ; 
and,  at  all  events,  they  wear  an  aspect  of  the  old  sincer- 
ity.* 

Give  us,  in  short,  a  foundation  of  that  true  old  Christ- 
mas sincerity  to  go  upon  (no  matter  under  what  modification 
of  belief,  provided  it  be  of  a  Christian  sort),  and,  like  the  bet- 
ter sort  of  Catholics,  who  go  to  church  in  the  morning  and 
to  their  dance  in  the  evening,  we  can  begin  the  day  with  a 
mild  gravity  of  recollection,  and  finish  it  with  all  kinds  of 
forgetful  mirth,  —  forgetful,  because  realizing  the  happiness 
for  which  we  are  thoughtful.  It  is  a  pernicious  mistake 
among  persons  who  exclusively  call  themselves  religious, 


*  We  learn  from  Hone's  "  Every-Day  Book  "  that  for  the  use  of  this  per- 
sonage there  was  a  book,  entitled  "  The  Bellman's  Treasury,  containing  above  a 
hundred  several  verses,  fitted  for  all  Humours  and  Fancies,  and  suited  to  all 
times  and  seasons."     London,  1707,  8vo.  —  Ed. 
21 


322       CHRISTMAS    EVE    AND    CHRISTMAS    DAY. 

to  think  they  ought  never  to  be  cheerful,  without  calling  to 
mind  considerations  too  vast  and  grand  for  cheerfulness  ; 
thereby  representing  the  object  of  their  reverence  after  the 
fashion  of  an  officious  and  tyrannical  parent,  who  should 
cast  the  perpetual  shadow  of  his  dignity  over  his  children's 
sports.  Those  sports  are  a  part  of  the  general  ordinance 
of  things.  Man  is  a  laughing  as  well  as  a  thinking  crea- 
ture ;  and  "  there  is  a  time  ,"  says  the  wise  man,  "  for  all 
things."  Formal  set  times  for  being  religious  and  thought- 
ful are,  to  be  sure,  not  the  only  times ;  but  a  perpetual 
formality  is  merely  the  same  mistake  rendered  thorough- 
going and  entire  !  It  might  be  thought  unnecessary  to 
touch  upon  this  point  nowadays,  and  a  violation  of  our  own 
inculcations  of  seasonableness  to  notice  it  in  the  present 
article  ;  but  a  periodical  writer  who  is  in  earnest  is  much 
hampered  by  certain  inconsistencies  in  the  demands  of 
some  of  his  readers  ;  and  what  we  feel,  we  express. 

To  have  a  thorough  sense,  then,  of  Christmas,  grave 
and  gay,  and  to  reconcile  as  much  as  possible  of  its  old 
times  to  the  new,  one  ought  to  begin  with  Christmas  Eve, 
to  see  the  log  put  on  the  fire,  the  boughs  fixed  somewhere 
in  the  room,  and  to  call  to  mind  what  is  said  by  the  poets, 
and  those  beautiful  accounts  of  angels  singing  in  the  air, 
which  inspired  the  seraphical  strains  of  Handel  and 
Corelli.  Those  who  possess  musical  instruments  should 
turn  to  these  strains,  or  procure  them,  and  warm  their 
imaginations  by  their  performance.  In  paintings  from 
Italy  (where  the  violin,  on  account  of  its  greater  mastery, 
and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people,  is  held  in  more  esteem 
than  with  us),  we  often  see  choral  visions  of  angels  in  the 
clouds,  singing  and  playing  on  that  instrument  as  well  as 
the  harp ;  and  certainly,  if  ever  a  sound  which  may  be 
supposed  to  resemble  them,  was  yet  heard  upon  earth, 


CHRISTMAS    EVE   AND    CHRISTMAS    DAY.       323 

it  is  in  some  of  the  harmonies  of  Arcangelo  Corelli. 
And  the  recitative  of  Handel's  divine  strain,  "There 
were  shepherds  abiding  in  the  fields,"  is  as  exquisite  for 
truth  and  simplicity  as  the  cheek  of  innocence.  See  what 
Milton  has  sung  of  these  angelic  symphonies  in  the 
ode  "  On  the  Morning  of  Christ's  Nativity."  Shakespeare 
has  touched  upon  Christmas  Eve  with  a  reverential  tender- 
ness, sweet  as  if  he  had  spoken  it  hushingly. 

"  Some  say  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes, 
Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated, 
The  bird  of  dawning  singeth  all  night  long. 
And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad ; 
The  nights  are  wholesome ;  then  no  planets  strike, 
No  fairy  takes,  nor  witch  hath  power  to  charm ; 
So  hallow 'dand  so  gracious  is  the  time.'' 

Upon  which  (for  it  is  a  character  in  Hamlet  who  is  speak- 
ing) Horatio  observes,  in  a  sentence  remarkable  for  the 
breadth  of  its  sentiment  as  well  as  the  niceness  of  its 
sincerity  (like  the  whole  of  that  apparently  favorite  charac- 
ter of  the  poet,  who  loved  a  friend), 

"  So  have  I  heard,  and  do  in  part  believe  it : " 

that  is  to  say,  he  believed  all  that  was  worthy,  and  recog- 
nized the  balmy  and  Christian  effect  produced  upon  well- 
disposed  and  sympathetic  minds  by  reflections  on  the 
season. 

The  Waits,  that  surprise  us  with  music  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  evidently  originated  in  honor  of  the  heavenly 
visitation.  They  are,  unfortunately,  not  apt  to  be  very 
celestial  of  their  kind.  There  is  a  fellow  in  particular, 
that  plays  the  bass,  who  seems  to  make  a  point  of  being 
out  of  tune.  He  has  two  or  three  notes  that  are  correct 
enough,  that  enable  him  to  finish  in  a  style  of  grandeur 


324       CHRISTMAS    EVE    AND    CHRISTMAS    DAY. 

and  self-satisfaction,  but  his  "  by-play,"  for  the  most  part, 
is  horrible.  However,  the  very  idea  of  music  is  good, 
especially  in  the  middle  of  the  night ;  and  a  little  imagin- 
ation, and  Christian  charity,  together  with  a  considera- 
tion of  his  cold  fingers,  will  help  us  to  be  thankful  for  his 
best  parts,  and  slip  as  we  can  over  his  worst.  When  the 
English  become  a  more  musical  people,  zealous  amateurs 
will  volunteer  their  services  on  fine  nights,  and,  going 
forth  with  their  harps  and  guitars,  charm  their  friends  and 
neighbors  with  strains  rendered  truly  divine  by  the  hour 
and  the  occasion,  — 

"  Divinely-warbled  voice 
Answering  the  stringed  noise." 

(See  Milton's  ode,  as  above-mentioned.) 

"  Soft  stillness  and  the  night 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony." 

Merchant  of  Venice. 

A  Christmas  day,  to  be  perfect,  should  be  clear  and  cold, 
with  holly  branches  in  berry,  a  blazing  fire,  a  dinner  with 
mince-pies,  and  games  and  forfeits  in  the  evening.  You 
cannot  have  it  in  perfection,  if  you  are  very  fine  and  fash- 
ionable. Neither,  alas  !  can  it  be  enjoyed  by  the  very 
poor ;  so  that,  in  fact,  a  perfect  Christmas  is  impossible  to 
be  had,  till  the  progress  of  things  has  distributed  comfort 
more  equally.  But  when  we  do  our  best,  we  are  privileged 
to  enjoy  our  utmost ;  and  charity  gives  us  a  right  to  hope. 
The  completest  enjoyer  of  Christmas  (next  to  a  lover  who 
has  to  receive  forfeits  from  his  mistress),  is  the  holiday 
school-boy  who  springs  up  early,  like  a  bird,  darting  hither 
and  thither,  out  of  sheer  delight,  thinks  of  his  mince-pies 
half  the  morning,  has  too  much  of  them  when  they  come 
(pardon  him  this  once),  roasts  chestnuts  and  cuts  apples 


CHRISTMAS   EVE    AND    CHRISTMAS    DAY.        325 

half  the  evening,  is  conscious  of  his  new  silver  in  his 
pocket,  and  laughs  at  every  piece  of  mirth  with  a  loudness 
that  rises  above  every  other  noise.  Next  day  what  a  peg- 
top  will  he  not  buy  !  what  string,  what  nuts,  what  ginger- 
bread !  And  he  will  have  a  new  clasp-knife,  and  pay  three 
times  too  much  for  it.  Sour  oranges  also  will  he  suck, 
squeezing  their  cheeks  into  his  own  with  staring  eyes  ;  and 
his  mother  will  tell  him  they  are  not  good  for  him,  —  and 
let  him  go  on. 

A  Christmas  evening  should,  if  possible,  finish  with 
music.  It  carries  off  the  excitement  without  abruptness, 
and  sheds  a  repose  over  the  conclusion  of  enjoyment 

A  word  respecting  the  more  serious  part  of  the  day's 
subject  alluded  to  above.  It  is  but  a  word,  but  it  may 
sow  a  seed  of  reflection  in  some  of  the  best  natures,  es- 
pecially in  these  days  of  perplexity  between  new  doctrines 
and  old.  It  appears  to  us,  that  there  is  a  point  never 
enough  dwelt  upon,  if  at  all,  by  those  who  attempt  to  bring 
about  a  reconciliation  between  belief  and  the  want  of  it.  It 
is  addressed  only  to  the  believers  in  a  Providence,  but  those 
who  have  that  belief,  if  they  have  no  other,  are  a  numer- 
ous body.  The  point  is  this,  —  that  Christianity,  to  say 
the  least  of  it,  is  a  great  event.  It  has  had  a  wonder- 
ful effect  on  the  world,  and  still  has,  even  in  the  workings 
of  its  apparently  unfilial  daughter,  modern  philosophy,  who 
could  never  have  been  what  she  is  but  for  the  doctrine  of 
boundless  sympathy,  grafted  upon  the  elegant  self-reference 
of  the  Greeks,  and  the  patriotism  of  the  Romans,  which  was 
so  often  a  mere  pretext  for  the  most  unneighborly  injustice. 
Now  so  great  an  event  must  have  been  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  Providence,  —  one  of  the  mountain-tops  of  its 
manifestation ;  and,  if  we  say,  even  of  a  Shakespeare  and 
a  Plato  (and  not  without  reason),  that  there  is  something 


326  NEW   YEAR'S    GIFTS. 

"  divine  "  in  them,  that  is  to  say,  something  partaking  of  a 
more  energetic  and  visible  portion  of  the  mysterious  spirit 
breathed  into  mankind,  how  much  more,  and  with  how 
much  more  reverential  a  love,  ought  we  not  to  have  a  di- 
vine impression  of  the  nature  of  Him,  who  drew  the  great 
line  between  the  narrowness  of  the  Old  World  and  the  uni- 
versalities of  the  New,  and  uttered  to  the  earth,  through  the 
angelical  organ  of  his  whole  being,  life  and  death,  that 
truly  celestial  doctrine,  "  Think  of  others  !  " 


NEW   YEAR'S    GIFTS. 

ORMERLY,  everybody  made  presents  on  New 
Year's  Day,  as  they  still  do  in  Paris,  where 
our  lively  neighbors  turn  the  whole  metrop- 
olis into  a  world  of  cakes,  sweetmeats,  jewel- 
lery, and  all  sorts  of  gifts  and  greetings.  The 
Puritans  checked  that  custom,  out  of  a  notion  that  it  was 
superstitious,  and  because  the  heathens  did  it ;  which  was 
an  odd  reason,  and  might  have  abolished  many  other  inno- 
cent and  laudable  practices  —  eating  itself,  for  one  —  and 
going  to  bed.  Innumerable  are  the  authorities  which  (had 
we  lived  in  those  days)  we  would  have  brought  up  in  be- 
half of  those  two  customs,  in  answer  to  the  New-Year's- 
Day-knocking-down  folios  of  Mr.  Prynne,  the  great 
"  blasphemer  of  custard."  Unfortunately  if  the  Puritans 
thought  gift-giving  superstitious,  the  increasing  spirit  of 
commerce  was  too  well  inclined  to  admit  half  its  epithet, 
and  regard  the  practice  as,  at  least,  superfluous  —  a  thing 
over  and  above  —  and  what  was  not  always  productive  of 


NEW   YEAR'S    GIFTS.  327 

a  "  consideration."  "  Nothing  is  given  for  nothing  now- 
adays," as  the  saying  is.  Nay,  it  is  doubtful  whether 
next  to  nothing  will  always  be  given  for  something.  There 
are  people,  we  are  credibly  informed,  taken  for  persons 
"  well  to  do  "  in  the  world,  and  of  respectable  character, 
who  will  even  turn  over  the  pages  of  the  "  London  Journal," 
and  narrowly  investigate  whether  there  is  enough  wit, 
learning,  philosophy,  lives,  travels,  poetry,  voyages,  and 
romances  in  it,  for  three  halfpence.* 

This  must  be  mended,  or  there  will  be  no  such  thing  as 
a  New  Year  by  and  by.  Novelty  will  go  out ;  the  sun  will 
halt  in  the  sky,  and  prudent  men  sharply  consider  whether 
they  have  need  of  common  perception. 

Without  entering  into  politics,  something  is  to  be  said, 
nowadays,  for  an  Englishman's  being  averse  to  making 
presents  ;  and,  as  it  behooves  us  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad 
thing,  reasons  might  be  shown  also  why  it  is  not  so  well 
to  have  a  formal  and  official  sort  of  day  for  making 
presents,  as  to  leave  them  to  more  spontaneous  occa- 
sions. Besides,  if  everybody  gives  and  everybody  re- 
ceives, where,  it  may  be  asked,  is  the  compliment  ?  And 
how  are  people  to  know  whether  they  would  have  given 
or  received  anything,  had  it  not  been  the  custom  ? 

How  are  they  to  be  sure,  whether  a  very  pretty  present 
is  not  a  positive  insult,  till  they  compare  it  with  what  has 
been  received  by  others  ?  And  how  are  men  in  office  and 
power  to  be  sure  that  in  the  gifts  of  their  inferiors  there 
is  anything  but  self-seeking  and  bribery  ?     It  was  formerly 


*  Such  a  one  was  not  Walter  Savage  Landor,  who  thus  wrote,  from  Italy 
to  a  friend  in  England :  "  Let  me  recommend  to  you  Leigh  Hunt's  '  London 
Journal,'  three  halfpence  a  week.  It  contains  neither  politics  nor  scandal, 
but  very  delightful  things  in  every  department  of  graceful  literature."  —  Ed. 


328  NEW    YEAR'S    GIFTS. 

the  custom  in  England  to  load  princes  and  ministers  with 
New- Year's  Gifts.  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  had  the  soul  of 
a  mantuamaker  as  well  as  of  a  monarch,  received  whole 
wardrobes  of  gowns  and  caps,  as  well  as  caskets  of  jewel- 
lery. What  a  day  must  she  have  passed  of  it,  with  all  the 
fine  things  spread  out  before  her !  And  yet  with  all  her 
just  estimation  of  herself,  and  her  vanity  to  boot,  bitter 
suspicions  must  occasionally  have  crossed  her,  that  all 
this  was  but  so  much  self-interest  appealing  to  self-love. 
But  suppose  a  Duke  or  an  Earl  did  not  send  a  gift  good 
enough.  Here  was  ground  for  anger  and  jealousy,  and 
all  the  pleasure-spoiling  self-will  which  see  no  good  in 
what  is  given  it,  provided  something  be  wanting.  Dryden 
addressed  some  verses  on  New- Year's  Day  to  Lord  Chan- 
cellor Hyde  (Clarendon),  which  he  begins  as  follows  :  — 

"  My  Lord, 
While  flattering  crowds  officiously  appear 
To  give  themselves,  not  you,  a  happy  year, 
And  by  the  greatness  of  their  presents,  prove 
How  much  they  hope,  but  not  how  well  they  love,"  &c. 

Here  was  a  blow  (not  very  well  considered,  perhaps)  at 
the  self-complacency  induced  by  the  receipt  of  "great 
presents."  Suppose  Lord  Chancellor  Lyndhurst,  or  Lord 
Chancellor  Brougham,  had  similar  presents  sent  them  on 
the  like  occasion.  How  could  the  one  be  sure  that  his 
great  legal  knowledge,  or  the  other,  that  even  his  great 
genius  and  tact  for  all  knowledge,  had  anything  to  do  with 
the  compliment  ?  Or  that  it  was  not  as  mere  a  trick  for 
court-favor  as  anything  which  they  would  now  despise  ? 
We  grant  that  (where  there  is  any  right  to  bestow  it  at  all) 
a  present  is  a  present ;  that  it  is  an  addition  to  one's  stock, 
and,  at  all  events,  a  compliment  to  one's  influence  ;  and 
influence  is  often  its  own  proof  of  a  right  to  be  compli- 


NEW   YEARS    GIFTS.  329 

merited;  as  want  of  influence  is  sometimes  a  greater. 
But,  for  the  sake  of  fair-play  among  mankind,  every  ad- 
vantage must  have  its  drawback  ;  and  it  is  a  drawback  in 
the  power  to  confer  benefits,  that  it  cannot  always  be  sure 
of  the  motives  of  those  who  do  it  honor.  If  a  day  is  to 
be  set  apart  for  such  manifestations  of  good-will,  the 
birthday  would  seem  better  for  them  than  New- Year's 
Day.  The  compliment  would  be  more  particular  and  per- 
sonal ;  others  might  not  know  of  it,  and  so  would  not 
grudge  it ;  and  real  affections  would  thus  be  indulged,  not 
mere  ceremonies. 

We  own  that  we  think  there  is  something  in  that  dis- 
tinction. Yet  our  sprightly-blooded  neighbors  would  no 
doubt  have  replies  to  all  these  arguments  ;  and,  for  our 
part,  we  are  for  cutting  the  knot  of  the  difficulty  thus  : 
Make  us  all  rich  enough,  and  then  we  could  indulge  our- 
selves both  with  New-Year's  Day  and  the  birthday,  both 
on  the  general  occasions  and  the  particular  one.  For,  to 
say  the  truth,  we  people  who  are  not  rich,  and  who,  there- 
fore, have  nothing  perhaps  worth  withholding,  are  long  in 
coming  to  understand  how  it  is  that  rich  people  can  resist 
these  anniversary  opportunities  of  putting  delight  into  the 
eyes  of  their  friends  and  dependants,  and  distributing 
their  toys  and  utilities  on  all  sides  of  them.  Presents 
(properly  so  called)  are  great  ties  to  gratitude,  and  there- 
fore great  increasers  of  power  and  influence,  especially  if 
they  are  of  such  a  kind  as  to  be  constantly  before  the  eye, 
thus  producing  an  everlasting  association  of  pleasant  ideas 
with  the  giver.*  They  tell  the  receiver  that  he  is  worth 
something  in  the  giver's  eyes,  and  thus  the  worth  of  the 
giver  becomes  twenty-fold.     Nor  do  we  say  this  sneer- 

*  Presents  endear  absents.  —  Charles  Lamb. 


33°  new  year's  gifts. 

ingly,  or  in  disparagement  of  the  self-love  which  must  of 
necessity  be,  more  or  less,  mixed  up  with  every  one's  na- 
ture ;  for  the  most  disinterested  love  would  have  nothing 
to  act  upon  without  it ;  and  the  most  generous  people  in 
the  world,  such  as  most  consult  the  pleasure  of  others 
before  their  own,  must  lose  their  very  identity  and  personal 
consciousness  before  they  can  lose  a  strong  desire  to  be 
pleased. 

Oh  !  but  rich  people,  it  will  be  said,  are  not  always  so 
rich  as  they  are  supposed  to  be  ;  and  even  when  they  are, 
they  find  plenty  of  calls  upon  their  riches,  without  going 
out  of  their  way  to  encourage  them.  They  have  estab- 
lishments to  keep  up,  heaps  of  servants,  &c,  their  wives 
and  families  are  expensive,  and  then  they  are  cheated 
beyond  measure. 

Making  allowances  for  all  this,  and  granting  in  some 
instances  that  wealth  itself  be  poor,  considering  the  de- 
mands upon  it,  nevertheless  for  the  most  part  real  wealth 
must  be  real  wealth ;  that  is  to  say,  must  have  a  great 
deal  more  than  enough.  You  do  not  find  that  a  rich  man 
(unless  he  is  a  miser)  hesitates  to  make  a  great  many 
presents  to  himself,  —  books,  jewels,  horses,  clothes,  fur- 
niture, wines,  or  whatever  the  thing  may  be  that  he  most 
cares  for ;  and  he  must  cease  to  do  this  (we  mean  of 
course  in  its  superfluity)  before  he  talks  of  his  inability  to 
make  presents  to  others. 


SALE   OF   THE   LATE   MR.    WEST'S    PICTURES.      33 1 


SALE  OF  THE  LATE  MR.  WEST'S  PICTURES. 

TT  is  a  villanous  thing  to  those  who  have  known 
a  man  for  years,  and  been  intimate  with  the 
quiet  inside  of  his  house,  privileged  from  in- 
trusion, to  see  a  sale  of  his  goods  going  on 
upon  the  premises.  It  is  often  not  to  be 
helped,  and  what  he  himself  wishes  and  enjoins  ;  but  still 
it  is  a  villanous  necessity,  —  a  hard  cut  to  some  of  one's 
oldest  and  tenderest  recollections.  There  is  a  sale  of  this 
kind  now  going  on  in  the  house  we  spoke  of  last  week.* 
We  spoke  of  it  then  under  an  impulse  not  easy  to  be  re- 
strained, and  not  difficult  to  be  allowed  us  ;  and  we  speak 
of  it  now  under  another.  We  were  returning  the  day  be- 
fore yesterday  from  a  house,  where  we  had  been  entertained 
with  lively  accounts  of  foreign  countries,  and  the  present 
features  of  the  time,  when  we  saw  the  door  in  Newman 
Street  standing  wide  open,  and  disclosing  to  every  passen- 
ger a  part  of  the  gallery  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  All  our 
boyhood  came  over  us,  with  the  recollection  of  those  who 
had  accompanied  us  into  that  house.  We  hesitated 
whether  we  should  go  in,  and  see  an  auction  taking  place 
of  the  old  quiet  and  abstraction  ;  but  we  do  not  easily 
suffer  an  unpleasant  and  vulgar  association  to  overcome 
a  greater  one  ;  and,  besides,  how  could  we  pass  ?  Having 
passed  the  threshold,  without  the  ceremony  of  the  smiling 
old  porter,  we  found  a  worthy  person  sitting  at  the  door 
of  the  gallery,  who,  on  hearing  our  name,  seemed  to  have 


*  In  an  article  entitled  "  A  Nearer  View  of  Some  of  the  Shops,"  in  "  The 
Indicator." —  Ed. 


332      SALE    OF   THE   LATE    MR.   WESTS    PICTURES. 

old  times  come  upon  him  as  much  as  ourselves,  and  was 
very  warm  in  his  services.  We  entered  the  gallery,  which 
we  had  entered  hundreds  of  times  in  childhood,  by  the 
side  of  a  mother,  who  used  to  speak  of  the  great  persons 
and  transactions  in  the  pictures  on  each  side  of  her  with  a 
hushing  reverence  as  if  they  were  really  present.  But  the 
pictures  were  not  there, — neither  Cupid  with  his  doves, 
nor  Agrippina  with  the  ashes  of  Germanicus,  nor  the 
Angel  slaying  the  army  of  Sennacherib,  nor  Death  on  the 
Pale  Horse,  nor  Jesus  Healing  the  Sick,  nor  the  Deluge, 
nor  Moses  on  the  Mount,  nor  King  Richard  pardoning  his 
brother  John,  nor  the  Installation  of  the  old  Knights  of  the 
Garter,  nor  Greek  and  Italian  stories,  nor  the  landscapes 
of  Windsor  Forest,  nor  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  mortally  wound- 
ed, giving  up  the  water  to  the  dying  soldier.  They  used 
to  cover  the  wall ;  but  now  there  were  only  a  few  engrav- 
ings. The  busts  and  statues  also  were  gone.  But  there 
was  the  graceful  little  piece  of  garden  as  usual,  with  its 
grass  plat  and  its  clumps  of  lilac.  They  could  not  move 
the  grass  plat,  even  to  sell  it.  Turning  to  the  left,  there 
was  the  privileged  study,  which  we  used  to  enter  between 
the  Venus  de  Medicis  and  the  Apollo  of  the  Vatican. 
They  were  gone,  like  their  mythology.  Beauty  and  intel- 
lect were  no  longer  waiting  on  each  side  of  the  door. 
Turning  again,  we  found  the  longer  part  of  the  gallery  like 
the  other;  and  in  the  vista  through  another  room,  the 
auction  was  going  on.  We  saw  a  throng  of  faces  of  busi- 
ness with  their  hats  on,  and  heard  the  bard-hearted 
knocks  of  the  hammer,  in  a  room  which  used  to  hold  the 
mild  and  solitary  Artist  at  his  work,  and  which  had  never 
been  entered  but  with  quiet  steps  and  a  face  of  consider- 
ation. We  did  not  stop  a  minute.  In  the  room  between 
this  and  the  gallery,  huddled  up  in  a  corner,  were  the  busts 


SALE   OF    THE    LATE    MR.    WESTS    PICTURES.      333 

and  statues  which  had  given  us  a  hundred  thoughts. 
Since  the  days  when  we  first  saw  them,  we  have  seen 
numbers  like  them,  and  many  of  more  valuable  materials  ; 
for  though  good  of  their  kind,  and  of  old  standing,  they 
are  but  common  plaster.  But  the  thoughts  and  the  recol- 
lections belonged  to  no  others  ;  and  it  appeared  sacrilege 
to  see  them  in  that  state. 

"  Apollo  from  his  shrine 
Can  no  more  divine : 
***** 
And  each  peculiar  power  foregoes  his  wonted  seat." 

Into  the  parlor,  which  opens  out  of  the  hall  and  into  the 
garden,  we  did  not  look.  We  scarcely  know  why ;  but 
we  did  not.  In  that  parlor  we  used  to  hear  of  our  maternal 
ancestors,  stout  yet  kind-hearted  Englishmen,  who  set  up 
their  tents  with  Penn  in  the  wilderness.  And  there  we 
learned  to  unite  the  love  of  freedom  with  that  of  the  graces 
of  life  ;  for  our  host,  though  born  a  Quaker,  and  appointed 
a  royal  painter,  and  not  so  warm  in  his  feelings  as  those 
about  him,  had  all  the  natural  amenity  belonging  to  those 
graces,  and  never  truly  lost  sight  of  that  love  of  freedom. 
There  we  grew  up  acquainted  with  the  divine  humanities 
of  Raphael.  There  we  remember  a  large  colored  print 
of  the  old  lion-hunt  of  Rubens,  in  which  the  boldness  of 
the  action  and  the  glow  of  the  coloring  overcome  the  hor- 
ror of  the  stuggle.  And  there,  long  before  we  knew  any 
thing  of  Ariosto,  we  were  as  familiar  as  young  playmates 
with  the  beautiful  Angelica  and  Medoro,  who  helped  to 
fill  our  life  with  love. 

May  a  blessing  be  upon  that  house,  and  upon  all  who 
know  how  to  value  the  genius  of  it ! 


334  TRANSLATION    FROM 


TRANSLATION    FROM    MILTON    INTO 
WELSH. 

E  are  going  to  do  a  thing  very  common  with 
critics ;  —  we  are  about  to  speak  of  a  work 
we  do  not  understand.  What  is  not  so  com- 
mon, however,  we  are  not  going  to  condemn 
it.  On  the  contrary,  the  evident  spirit  under 
which  it  is  written,  gives  it  a  very  advantageous  character 
in  our  opinion ;  and  we  shall  proceed  to  show  those 
eminent  and  dissatisfied  persons,  how  possible  it  is  by  the 
help  of  a  little  good  humor  and  modesty  to  be  pleased 
instead  of  provoked,  and  to  enjoy  one's  imagination  in- 
stead of  resenting  one's  ignorance. 

The  reader  is  aware  perhaps,  that  there  is  a  kind  of 
Poetical  Order  existing  among  our  Welsh  brethren,  the 
object  of  which  is  to  keep  up  the  genius  as  well  as  remem- 
brance of  their  ancient  Bards.  The  members  look  upon 
themselves,  in  love  at  least,  as  their  successors  ;  take  the 
same  title  of  Bards ;  distribute  harps  as  prizes  ;  and  en- 
deavor to  catch  the  reflection  of  their  old  fire  on  the  same 
mountains.  Nor  is  this  second-hand  inspiration,  we  dare 
say,  without  the  occasional  production  of  something  fine. 
In  a  populous  modern  city,  with  its  sophistications,  such 
an  establishment  might  be  regarded  as  a  mere  game  at 
antiques.  But  in  persons  of  simplicity  of  life  and  earnest- 
ness of  intention,  especially  in  solitudes  peopled  with 
grand  human  recollections,  it  is  difficult  to  love  anything 
fervently,  and  never  speak  of  it  in  a  worthy  manner.  We 
have  seen  poems  in  the  English  language  written  by 
Welshmen  of  this  character,  which  were  as  good  as  some 


MILTON    INTO    WELSH.  335 

of  the  English  productions  of  Burns  ;  and  the  inference 
is,  that  in  their  own  language,  and  on  the  subject  of  their 
own  afFections,  they  have  not  always  produced  poetry  un- 
worthy of  ranking  with  his  Scotch.  Even  upon  subjects 
of  mere  antiquity,  the  inspiration  above  mentioned  may 
act  upon  them  as  that  of  the  great  poets  of  Greece  and 
Italy  has  acted  upon  their  own.  Great  times  and  men 
may  literally  be  said  never  to  die  in  point  of  effect.  Their 
touch  reaches  us  from  afar.  Their  eye  is  upon  us  out  of 
the  clouds  of  time.  We  feel  their  memory  in  our  ears, 
like  the  tremble  of  an  eternal  song.  If  their  own  works 
help  to  divert  us  from  the  more  natural  soil  out  of  which 
they  drew  the  flowers  and  fountains  of  their  immortality, 
they  serve  to  create  a  new  stratum  of  fertility,  not  so  fine 
indeed  as  the  other,  but  still  fine  and  abundant,  and  full 
of  a  second  vitality.  Death  itself  helps  to  beautify  them. 
We  walk  among  their  memories,  as  we  do  among  the 
leaves  of  autumn,  or  the  ruins  of  great  places  ;  and  sup- 
ply the  want  of  present  perfection  with  the  love  of  that 
which  is  past. 

In  our  youth,  we  met  with  one  of  the  Modern  Welsh 
Bards,  who  had  all  the  character  we  speak  of.  He  was  a 
man  of  primeval  simplicity  of  manners  ;  that  is  to  say, 
one  who  without  any  of  the  conventional  substitutes  for  the 
humanities  of  intercourse,  possessed  that  natural  polite- 
ness of  benignity,  which  is  so  instantly  felt  to  be  their 
vital  spirit.  He  had  the  true  Welsh  face  improved  by 
information,  hair  and  eyes  black  as  a  raven,  and  an  ex- 
pression of  great  candor  and  good  nature.  If  we  remem- 
ber rightly,  we  gathered  from  his  conversation,  that  he  had 
risen,  by  dint  of  his  love  of  letters,  and  much  to  the  credit 
of  those  who  noticed  him,  from  an  humble  origin  ;  which 
origin  he  neither  affected  to  hide  nor  to  boast  of.     He 


336  TRANSLATION   FROM 

occasionally  came  up  to  London  ;  took  his  meals  with  the 
best  society  among  his  countrymen  or  at  his  own  hermit- 
like table  ;  and  hired  an  humble  lodging  near  the  Museum, 
where  it  was  his  delight  to  go  and  study  Welsh  antiquities. 
Thus  if  he  came  to  London,  he  brought  his  country  with 
him  ;  found  his  bards  and  his  very  quiet  about  him,  wher- 
ever he  pleased,  in  the  shape  of  books  ;  and  in  default  of 
his  goats  and  mountains,  could  get  among  animals  and 
things  which  perhaps  he  loved  as  well,  and  thought  almost 
as  real,  the  dragons  and  golden  fields  of  Cambrian  heraldry. 
Among  other  advantages  of  the  remoteness  and  romantic 
nature  of  the  sphere  in  which  he  grew  up,  it  had  kept  him 
free  from  the  small  pedantry  and  self-sufficiency  so  often 
observable  in  the  leading  wits  of  country  towns  and  minor 
cities,  who  think  their  own  amount  of  knowledge  the 
sum  of  all  that  is  accomplished,  and  have  a  particular 
fancy  for  setting  Londoners  in  the  right.  He  had  the 
humanity  to  think  well  of  what  he  did  not  know.  He 
loved  his  country's  music  and  its  poets,  and  in  our  fond- 
ness for  an  air  on  the  piano-forte  and  an  ode  of  Horace 
was  pleased  to  discover  something  which  he  thought 
worthy  both  of  his  sympathy  and  his  respect. 

This  pleasant  Cambro-Briton,  of  whom  we  are  speak- 
ing, once  took  us  to  see  a  countryman  of  his,  whose  taste 
in  urbanities  and  antiquities  resembled  his  own.  He  lived 
in  a  small  quiet  house  near  the  fields  ;  and  we  found  him 
up  to  the  eyes  in  good  humor,  books,  and  a  Welsh  harp. 
If  we  are  not  much  mistaken,  this  is  the  author  of  the 
Welsh  Milton. 

There  is  something  very  beautiful  to  us  to  see  the  whole 
souls  of  men  yearning  in  this  manner  towards  their  native 
country,  when  its  power  has  long  ceased  to  exist.  They 
have  all  the  merit  of  adhering  to  a  great  friend  in  adver- 


MILTON    INTO   WELSH.  337 

sity ;  and  yet  the  friend  is  perhaps  greater  than  ever  he 
was,  and  can  reward  them  more.  The  ancient  Britons 
had  in  them  the  seeds  of  a  great  nation,  even  in  our 
modern  sense  of  the  word.  They  had  courage  ;  they  had 
reflection ;  they  had  imagination.  When  driven  from 
their  larger  possessions  by  the  mere  power  which  the 
world  then  adored,  they  soon  found  out  the  two  great 
secrets  of  adversity,  —  that  of  softening  reality  with  ro- 
mance, and  of  turning  experience  to  reformation.  They 
possessed,  in  an  extraordinary  degree,  the  spirit  of  legis- 
lative improvement.  Power  at  last  made  a  vassal  of  their 
prince.  There  were  writers  in  those  times  ;  harpers  and 
bards,  who  made  the  instinct  of  that  brute  faculty  turn 
cruel  out  of  fear.  But  there  were  no  presses  to  let  all  the 
world  know  what  the  writers  thought,  and  to  give  intel- 
lectual power  its  fair  chances  with  brute.  They  bequeathed 
to  their  countrymen,  however,  the  glory  of  their  memories. 
They,  and  time  together,  have  consecrated  their  native 
hills,  so  as  they  were  never  before  consecrated.  Existing, 
in  a  manner,  no  longer  as  a  thing  of  the  common  world, 
the  country  took  an  elevation  nearer  heaven.  It  lifted  up 
its  head  in  the  light  of  love  and  poetry,  and  its  tops  shine 
to  this  day  in  the  reverted  eyes  of  its  wanderers. 

"  Fond  impious  man,  thinkst  thou  yon  sanguine  cloud 
Raised  by  thy  breath,  has  quenched  the  orb  of  day? 
To-morrow  he  repairs  the  golden  flood, 
And  warms  the  nations  with  redoubled  ray." 

Violence  is  the  grown  childhood  of  the  world.  Its  man- 
hood is  intellect  and  equanimity ;  and  part  of  the  grace 
of  manhood  consists  in  recollecting  the  better  things  of 
infancy.  Edward  the  First,  who  made  vassals  of  the 
Welsh,  is  now  an  inferior  person  in  our  eyes  compared 
with  Howell  the  legislator.     We  would  rather  see  Alfred 


338  TRANSLATION   FROM 

the  Great  than  the  widest-ruling  of  all  the  Roman  Em- 
perors. We  should  expect  more  in  his  face.  We  should 
recognize  in  him  a  greater  existing  man,  —  a  finer  contem- 
porary,—  or  rather  a  more  becoming  fellow-creature  for 
the  Shakespeares  and  Bacons  :  for  when  we  speak  of 
modern  times,  we  mean  the  intellectual  times  which  such 
great  men  have  produced  for  us.  Even  the  smallness  of 
the  territory,  to  which  the  old  Britons  were  confined, 
serves  to  concentrate  and  make  strong  the  gaze  of  recol- 
lection. Mere  greatness  acts  through  the  medium  of 
pride  or  fear.  It  always  inflicts  a  sort  of  uneasy  con- 
sciousness of  the  gross  nature  of  its  pretensions.  Break 
it,  and  it  resolves  its  compounds  into  littleness.  You  can 
only  contrast  it  with  mere  smallness,  or  pity  it  because  it 
is  not  entire.  It  cannot  afford  to  be  otherwise.  Its  com- 
pounds have  no  principle  of  growth,  —  no  power  of  vol- 
untary aggrandizement,  —  no  charm  with  which  to  call 
associations  about  them.  But  break  a  heart  into  a  thou- 
sand  shivers,  and  every  atom  shall  be  reverenced.  Love 
is  great  enough  for  itself.  Such  phrases  as  the  Great 
King  and  the  Great  Nation,  even  though  warranted  in 
point  of  physical  power,  are  nothing  but  vanity,  and  are 
felt  to  be  so.  Both  imply  a  want  of  individual  importance, 
and  by  the  same  reason  a  want  of  general  humanity. 
They  make  the  recollections  either  too  vaguely  public,  or 
too  minutely  private.  The  Persian  in  Greece,  or  the 
Turk  in  Candia,  was  angry  at  being  killed  by  a  petty  re- 
publican, or  regretted  only  his  harem  or  his  houris  ;  but 
the  Greek  who  "  dying,  thought  of  sweet  Argos,"  *  and 


*  Sternitur  infelix  alieno  vulnere,  ccelumque 
Adspicit,  et  dulces  raoriens  reminiscitur  Argos. 

Virgil,  Lib.  10,  v.  781. 


MILTON    INTO    WELSH.  339 

the  Florentine  who  turned  at  hearing  Dante  speak  in  his 
native  language,  and  felt  his  heart  live  again  at  "the 
dialect  of  Arno's  vale,"  thought  of  his  home  and  his 
country  as  one. 

It  is  a  feeling  connected  with  this  love  of  country,  which 
most  particularly  strikes  us  in  the  translation  of  Milton. 
Here  is  an  author  fond  of  authorship,  an  author  living 
among  Englishmen,  and  well  aware  of  the  universality  of 
their  language,  and  yet  he  contents  his  ambition  with  pro- 
ducing a  long  work  which  none  but  his  countrymen  shall 
understand.  It  is  sufficient  for  him  if  he  can  give  them  a 
new  source  of  pleasure.  It  is  enough  for  the  true  large- 
ness of  his  spirit  if  he  can  give  a  thousand  times  more 
than  he  can  receive, — happy  in  obtaining  the  thanks  of 
the  modern  Howells  and  Llewellyns,  and  in  being  re- 
nowned in  a  country  about  twice  the  size  of  Yorkshire. 

On  opening  the  book,  we  are  then  struck  with  the 
delight  it  must  afford  to  those  who  have  no  other  lan- 
guage, and  amused  with  the  unreadable  face  it  presents 
to  those  who  are  not  acquainted  with  it.  One's  familiarity 
with  the  original,  and  utter  inability  to  make  out  its  ex- 
pounder, make  up  a  very  pleasant  perplexity.  We  will 
quote  a  passage  from  both,  which  in  Milton  is  like  the 
coming  of  an  army  with  music,  and  which  must  present 
high  associations,  of  another  sort,  to  the  Welsh  reader. 
Satan  has  just  numbered  his  forces  :  — ■ 

"  And  now  his  heart 
Distends  with  pride,  and  hard'ning  in  his  strength 
Glories :  for  never,  since  created  man, 
Met  such  embodied  force,  as  named  with  these 
Could  merit  more  than  that  small  infantry 
Warr'd  on  by  cranes ;  though  all  the  giant  brood 
Of  Phlegra  with  th'  heroic  race  were  joiu'd 
That  fought  at  Thebes  and  Ilium,  on  each  side 


34°  TRANSLATION    FROM 

Mix'd  with  auxiliar  gods  ;  and  what  resounds 
In  fable  or  romance  of  Uther's  son 
Begirt  with  British  and  Armorick  knights  ; 
And  all  who  since,  baptiz'd  or  infidel, 
Jousted  in  Aspramont,  or  Montalban, 
Damasco,  or  Marocco,  or  Trebisond, 
Or  whom  Biserta  sent  from  Africk  shore, 
When  Charlemain  with  all  his  peerage  fell 
By  Fontarabia." 

Yna  ymfulchi'a, 
Ei  galon,  a  chaledu  yn  ei  nerth 
Ymorfoledda  :  canys  nid  erised 
Er  pan  fu  dyn,  yr  ymddygyrchai  lu 
Wrth  y  rhai  hyn  teilyngach  fyddent  nog 
Oedd  y  peddytos  man  a  gyrchent  gynt 
Greyrod ;  er  pe  cawri  Phlegra  oil 
Yn  gyflu  ag  y  glewion  a  gateynt 
Rhag  Thebes  a  rhag  Ilion,  cymhlith  o 
Gyfneirthiaid  Dduwiau  y  ddwy  blaid  ;  a  pheth 
A  soniant  chwedlau  am  fab  Uthr  ar  gyrch 
Marchogion  Prydain  ac  Armorica  ; 
Ac  wedi  hwynt  oil,  cred  neu  anghred  lu, 
Yn  Aspramont  neu  Montalbar,  neu  yn 
Damasco,  neu  Marocco,  neu  Trebisond, 
Neu  o  Affric  dorf  Biserta,  yn  y  drin 
Wrth  Fontarabia,  pan  y  syrthiai  holl 
Urddolion  Carlo  Mawr  ac  efe  ei  hun. 

Here  are  some  fine  words  to  the  eye  :  — 

Yna  ymfalcKia 
Ei  galon,  a  chaledu  yn  ei  nerth 
Ymorfoledda. 

And  again :  — 

Marchogton  Prydain  ac  Armorica : 

And, — 

Yn  y  drin 
Wrth  Fontarabia,  pan  y  syrthiai  holl 
Urddolion  Carlo  Mawr  ac  efe  ei  hun. 

Charles  the  Great  keeps  up  his  old  triumphs.     He  always 


MILTON    INTO    WELSH.  34 1 

gets  well  off  in  every  tongue  and  nation,  —  Charlemain, 
Carlo  Mano,  Carolus  Magnus.  Even  his  plain  mono- 
syllable, Carl,  which  Camden  tells  us  is  the  only  appellation 
on  his  coins,  has  a  self-sufficing  and  dominant  sound. 
But  we  know  not  that  he  ever  cut  a  more  imperial  figure 
than  in  this  lofty  and  solemn  agnomen  of  Carlo  Mawr. 
It  reminds  one  of  the  mountain.*  The  names  that  abound 
in  this  passage  serve  only  to  show  to  greater  effect  the 
obscurity  of  the  rest.  Uthr  and  Prydain  we  can  make 
out :  Damasco  and  Marocco,  and  Trebisond,  are  as  fa- 
miliar to  us  as  the  sounds  of  a  trumpet ;  but  "  what  the 
devil,"  as  Brantome  would  say,  is  "  oedd  y  pedditos 
man  ? "  There  happens  to  be  a  note  to  these  words  ; 
and  the  idea  of  explanation  is  so  united  with  that  of  a 
note,  that  one  looks  involuntarily  for  some  instruction  on 
the  point.  The  following  is  the  elucidation.  "  Odd  y 
pedditos  man."]  —  Syniad  yw  hyn  am  y  ddammeg  o  ryfel 
rhwyng  y  crbrod  ac  y  creyrod."  Even  the  Preface,  we 
find,  has  nothing  in  it  for  us  Saxons  ;  nor  the  Index 
either.  At  last,  in  the  former,  we  hit  upon  some  Greek 
letters,  and  thought  that  some  light  was  going  to  break  in 
upon  us,  when  lo  !  we  know  not  for  what  cause,  but  these 
Greek  letters  contained  only  Welsh  words.  This  was 
"  the  unkindest  cut  of  all."  But  they  look  like  some 
memorial  about  a  lady,  perhaps  an  affectionate  one  ;  and  we 
return  to  our  gravities. 

The  only  remaining  observation  we  have  to  make,  is  the 


*  Those  rogues  the  punsters,  who  will  be  levelling  every  thing,  and  laying 
every  language  double,  have  already  got  hold  of  the  translation  of  Mr.  Owen 
Pughe.  One  of  them,  the  other  day,  seeing  the  words  "Mr.  Tomkins"  at 
the  head  of  an  advertisement,  and  finding  that  it  concerned  that  late  eminent 
writing-master,  said  that  he  was  the  greatest  man  that  flourished  during  the 
last  century,  and  that  he  ought  to  be  called  Penman-Mawr. 


342  TRANSLATION    FROM    MILTON. 

pleasure  with  which  the  great  poet  himself  would  have 
witnessed  a  translation  of  his  work  into  this  language : 
there  has  lately  been  an  Icelandic  version  of  Paradise 
Lost.  This  would  have  gratified  him,  from  feelings  com- 
mon to  all  writers.  The  Italian  ones  were  a  matter  of 
course.  But  a  translation  into  old  British  would  have 
been  particularly  curious  to  one,  who  had  meditated  an 
epic  poem  on  the  exploits  of  King  Arthur,  and  had  no 
doubt  made  himself  as  well  acquainted  as -possible  with 
Welsh  antiquities,  for  that  purpose.  The  overflowings  of 
this  first  intention  of  his,  when  it  was  afterwards  diverted, 
are  visible  in  the  little  streams  of  romance  which  occa- 
sionally run  into  its  other  sphere.  Among  the  subjects 
also  which  he  has  left  on  record  for  tragedy,  are  passages 
from  the  same  period  ;  and  when  he  began  a  History  of 
Britain,  he  delighted  to  go  as  far  back  as  possible,  and  do 
justice  to  Briton  as  well  as  Saxon.  He  speaks  of  the 
intended  epic  poem  in  various  parts  of  his  writings,  and 
talks  of  his  subject  with  a  zeal  and  even  a  British  sort  of 
partiality,  which  is  as  striking  as  the  ardor  of  his  verse. 
See  particularly  the  famous  passage  in  his  Latin  poem  to 
Tasso's  friend,  Manso,  where  after  expressing  his  wish  to 
meet  with  so  understanding  a  patron,  and  to  write  about 
the  Round  Table  and  Arthur,  who  "at  that  moment  was 
preparing  his  wars  under  ground,"  he  bursts  out  in  a 
strain  like  the  clang  of  metal :  — 

Et,  O  modo  spiritus  adsit, 
Frangam  Saxonicas  Britonum  sub  Marte  phalangas  ! 

And  oh,  did  spirit  come  on  me  but  fit  for  those  high  wars, 
I'd  crash  the  Saxon  phalanxes  beneath  the  British  Mars  ! 

Perhaps  considering  what  a  proud  patriot  Milton  was, 
notwithstanding  all  his  cosmopolitical  qualities,  it  affords 


THE    BULL-FIGHT.  343 

some  additional  explanation  to  this  British  part  of  his 
enthusiasm,  to  find  that  his  mother  was  of  Welsh  origin. 
His  connections  were  probably  a  good  deal  among  the 
countrymen  of  her  family.  His  first  wife  was  the  daughter 
of  a  Powell.  That  he  did  not  do  what  he  intended,  has 
been  regretted  by  every  poet  who  has  alluded  to  it,  from 
Dryden  to  Walter  Scott.  We  remember  a  note  in  the 
latter's  edition  of  Dryden,  where  he  asks,  what  would  not 
have  been  done  with  such  subjects  as  the  Perilous  Chapel 
and  the  Forbidden  Seat  ?  So  much,  that  being  compelled 
to  bring  this  article  to  a  close,  we  dare  not  trust  ourselves 
with  dwelling  upon  it,  —  with  fancying  a  thousandth  part 
of  the  grand  and  the  gorgeous  things,  the  warlike  and  the 
peaceful,  the  bearded  and  the  vermeil-cheeked,  the  manly, 
the  supernatural,  and  the  gentle,  with  which  his  poem 
would  have  burnt  brightly  down  to  us,  like  windows 
painted  by  enchantment. 


THE    BULL-FIGHT; 

OR,   THE  STORY   OF  DON   ALPHONSO   DE   MELOS   AND 
THE  JEWELLER'S   DAUGHTER. 


VERYBODY  has  heard  of  the  bull-fights  in 
Spain.     The  noble  animal  is  brought  into  an 
arena  to  make  sport,  as  Samson  was  among 
the  Philistines.     And  truly  he  presents  him- 
self to  one's  imagination,  as  a  creature  equally 
superior  with  Samson  to  his  tormentors ;   for  the  sport 
which  he  is  brought  in  to  furnish,  is  that  of  being  mur- 
dered.    The  poor  beast  is  not  actuated  by  a  perverse  will, 


344  THE    BULL-FIGHT. 

and  by  a  brutality  which  is  deliberate.  He  does  but  obey 
to  the  last  the  just  feelings  of  his  nature.  He  would  not 
be  forced  to  revenge  himself,  if  he  could  help  it.  He  would 
fain  return  to  the  sweet  meadow  and  the  fresh  air,  but  his 
tyrants  will  not  let  him.  He  is  stung  with  arrows,  goaded 
and  pierced  with  javelins,  hewn  at  with  swords,  beset  with 
all  the  devilries  of  horror  and  astonishment  that  can  ex- 
asperate him  into  madness  ;  and  the  tormentors  themselves 
feel  that  he  is  in  the  right,  if  he  can  but  give  bloody  deaths 
to  his  bloody  assassins.  The  worst  of  it  is,  that  some  of 
these  assassins,  who  are  carried  away  by  custom,  are  per- 
sons who  are  otherwise  among  the  best  in  the  kingdom. 
They  err  from  that  very  love  of  sympathy,  and  of  the  ad- 
miration of  their  fellows,  which  should  have  been  employed 
to  teach  them  better. 

The  excuse  for  this  diabolical  pastime  is,  that  it  keeps 
up  old  Spanish  qualities  to  their  height,  and  prevents  the 
nation  from  becoming  effeminate.  To  what  purpose  ?  And 
in  how  many  instances  ?  Are  not  the  Spanish  nobility 
the  most  degenerate  in  Europe  ?  Has  not  its  court,  for 
three  generations,  been  a  scandal  and  a  burlesque  ?  and 
would  any  other  nation  in  Christendom  consent  to  be  made 
the  puppets  of  such  superiors  ?  What  could  Spain  have 
done  against  France  without  England  ?  What  have  all  its 
bull-fights,  and  all  its  other  barbarities,  done  for  it,  to  save 
it  from  the  shame  of  being  the  feeblest  and  most  supersti- 
tious of  European  communities,  and  of  having  no  voice  in 
the  affairs  of  the  world  ? 

Poor  foolish  Matadore  !  Poor,  idle  illiterate,  unreflect- 
ing cavallero  /  that  is  to  say,  "  horseman  !  "  which,  by  the 
noble  power  or  privilege  of  riding  a  horse  (a  thing  that  any 
groom  can  do  in  any  decent  country),  came  to  mean  "  gen- 
tleman ! "  (and  no  other  country  has  derived  its  idea  of  a 


THE    BULL-FIGHT.  345 

gentleman  from  that  of  a  centaur),  can  you  risk  your  life 
for  nothing  better  than  this  ?  Must  you  stake  wife,  chil- 
dren, mistress,  father  and  mother,  friends,  fortune,  love, 
and  all  which  all  of  them  may  bring  you,  at  no  higher 
price  than  the  power  of  having  it  said  you  are  a  better  man 
than  the  butcher  ?  Is  there  no  sacred  cause  of  country  to 
fight  for  ?  No  tyrant  to  oppose  ?  No  doctrine  worth 
martyrdom  ?  that  you  must  needs,  at  the  hazard  of  death 
and  agony,  set  the  only  wits  or  the  best  qualities  you 
possess  on  outdoing  the  greatest  fools  and  ruffians  in  your 
city  ?  And  can  you  wonder  that  your  country  has  no  cause 
which  it  can  stand  to  without  help,  or  to  any  purpose  ? 
that  your  tyrants  are  cruel  and  laugh  at  you  ?  and  that 
your  very  wives  and  mistresses  (for  the  most  part)  think 
there  is  nothing  better  in  the  world  than  a  flaring  show 
and  a  brutal  sensation  ? 

Bull-fights  are  going  on  now,  and  bull-fights  were  going 
on  in  the  wretched  time  of  King  Charles  the  Second,  of  the 
House  of  Austria,  whose  very  aspect  seemed  ominous  of 
the  disasters  about  to  befall  his  country ;  for  his  face  was 
very  long,  his  lips  very  thick,  his  mouth  very  wide,  his 
nose  very  hooked,  and  he  had  no  calves  to  his  legs,  and 
no  brains  in  his  skull.  His  clemency  consisted  in  letting 
assassins  go,  because  passion  was  uncontrollable  ;  and  his 
wit,  in  sending  old  lords  to  stand  in  the  rain,  because  they 
intimated  that  it  would  be  their  death.  However,  he  was 
a  good-natured  man,  as  times  went,  especially  for  a  King 
of  Spain  ;  and  it  is  not  of  public  disasters  that  we  are  to 
speak,  but  of  the  misery  that  befell  two  lovers  in  his  day, 
in  consequence  of  these  detestable  bull-fights. 

Don  Alphonso  de  Melos,  a  young  gentleman  of  some 
five-and-twenty  years  of  age,  was  the  son  of  one  of  those 


346  THE    BULL-FIGHT. 

Titulados  of  Castile,  more  proud  than  rich,  of  whom  it  was 
maliciously  said,  that  "  before  they  were  made  lords,  they 
didn't  dine ;  and  after  they  were  made  lords,  they  didn't 
sup."  He  was,  however,  a  very  good  kind  of  man,  not  too 
poor  to  give  his  sons  good  educations  ;  and  of  his  second 
son,  Alphonso,  the  richest  grandee  might  have  been  proud  ; 
for  a  better  or  pleasanter  youth,  or  one  of  greater  good 
sense,  conventionalisms  apart,  had  never  ventured  his  life 
in  a  bull-fight,  which  he  had  done  half  a  dozen  times.  He 
was,  moreover,  a  very  pretty  singer  ;  and  it  was  even  said, 
that  he  not  only  composed  the  music  for  his  serenades, 
but  that  he  wrote  verses  for  them  equal  to  those  of  Gar- 
cilaso.  So,  at  least,  thought  the  young  lady  to  whom  they 
were  sent,  and  who  used  to  devour  them  with  her  eyes, 
till  her  very  breath  failed  her,  and  she  could  not  speak  for 
delight. 

Poor,  loving  Lucinda  !  —  We  call  her  poor,  though  she 
was  at  that  minute  one  of  the  richest  as  well  as  happiest 
maidens  in  Madrid  ;  and  we  speak  of  her  as  a  young  lady, 
for  such  she  was  in  breeding  and  manners,  and  as  such 
the  very  grandees  treated  her,  as  far  as  they  could,  though 
she  was  only  the  daughter  of  a  famous  jeweller,  who  had 
supplied  half  the  great  people  with  carcanets  and  rings. 
Her  father  was  dead  :  her  mother  too  ;  she  was  under  the 
care  of  guardians  ;  but  Alphonso  de  Melos  had  loved  her 
more  than  a  year ;  had  loved  her  with  a  real  love,  even 
though  he  wanted  her  money  ;  would,  in  fact,  have  thrown 
her  money  to  the  dogs,  rather  than  have  ceased  to  love 
her ;  such  a  treasure  he  had  found  in  the  very  fact  of  his 
passion.  Their  marriage  was  to  take  place  within  the 
month  ;  and  as  the  lady  was  so  rich,  and  the  lover,  how- 
ever noble  otherwise,  was  only  of  the  lowest  or  least 
privileged  order  of  nobility  (a  class  who  had  the  misfor- 


THE    BULL-FIGHT.  347 

tune  of  not  being  able  to  wear  their  hats  in  the  king's  pres- 
ence, unless  his  majesty  expressly  desired  it),  the  loftiest 
grandees,  who  would  have  been  but  too  happy  to  marry 
the  lovely  heiress,  had  her  father  been  anything  but  a  mer- 
chant, thought  that  the  match  was  not  only  pardonable  in 
the  young  gentleman,  but  in  a  sort  of  way  noticeable,  and 
even  in  some  measure  to  be  smilingly  winked  at  and  en- 
couraged ;  nay,  perhaps,  envied ;  especially  as  the  future 
husband  was  generous,  and  had  a  turn  for  making  presents, 
and  for  sitting  at  the  head  of  a  festive  table.  Suddenly, 
therefore,  appeared  some  of  the  finest  emeralds  and  sap- 
phires in  the  world  upon  the  fingers  of  counts  and  mar- 
quises, whose  jewels  had  hitherto  been  of  doubtful  value  ; 
and  no  little  sensation  was  made,  on  the  gravest  and  most 
dignified  of  the  old  nobility,  by  a  certain  grandee,  remark- 
able for  his  sense  of  the  proprieties,  who  had  discovered 
"  serious  reasons  for  thinking  "  that  the  supposed  jeweller's 
offspring  was  a  natural  daughter  of  a  late  prince  of  the 
blood. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  Don  Alphonso  presented  himself  one 
morning,  as  usual,  before  his  mistress,  and  after  an  inter- 
change of  transports,  such  as  may  be  imagined  between 
two  such  lovers,  about  to  be  joined  for  ever,  informed  her, 
that  one  only  thing  more  was  now  remaining  to  be  done, 
and  then  —  in  the  course  of  three  mornings — they  would 
be  living  in  the  same  house. 

"  And  what  is  that  ? "  said  Lucinda,  the  tears  rushing 
into  her  eyes  for  excess  of  adoring  happiness. 

"  Only  the  bull-fight,"  said  the  lover,  affecting  as  much 
indifference,  as  he  could  affect  in  anything  when  speaking 
with  his  eyes  on  hers.  But  he  could  not  speak  it  in  quite 
the  tone  he  wished. 

"The  bull-fight !  "  scarcely  ejaculated  his  mistress,  turn- 


34§  THE    BULL-FIGHT. 

ing  pale.  "  Oh,  Alphonso  !  you  have  fought  and  conquered 
in  a  dozen  ;  and  you  will  not  quit  me,  now  that  we  can  be 
so  often  together  ?  Besides  —  "  And  here  her  breath 
began  already  to  fail  her. 

But  Alphonso  showed  her,  or  tried  to  show  her,  how  he 
must  inevitably  attend  the  bull-fight.  "  Honor  demanded 
it ;  custom  ;  everything  that  was  expected  of  him ; "  his 
mistress  herself,  who  would  "otherwise  despise  him." 

His  mistress  fainted  away.  She  fell,  a  death-like  burden, 
into  his  arms. 

When  she  came  to  herself,  she  wept,  entreated,  implored, 
tried  even  with  pathetic  gayety  to  rally  and  be  pleasant ; 
then  again  wept ;  then  argued,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  was  a  logician,  pressing  his  hand,  and  saying  with  a 
sudden  force  of  conviction,  "  But  hear  me  ; "  then  begged 
again;  then  kissed  him  like  a  bride  ;  reposed  on  him  like 
a  wife ;  did  everything  that  was  becoming  and  beautiful, 
and  said  everything  but  an  angry  word  ;  nay,  would  have 
dared  perhaps  to  pretend  to  say  even  that,  had  she  thought 
of  it ;  but  she  was  not  of  an  angry  kind,  or  of  any  kind  but 
the  loving,  and  how  was  the  thought  to  enter  her  head  ? 
Entire  love  is  a  worship,  and  cannot  be  angry. 

The  heart  of  the  lover  openly  and  fondly  sympathized 
with  that  of  his  poor  mistress  ;  and,  secretly,  it  felt  more 
even  than  it  showed.  Not  that  Don  Alphonso  feared  for 
consequences,  though  he  had  not  been  without  pangs  and 
thoughts  of  possibilities,  even  in  regard  to  those  ;  for  to 
say  nothing  of  the  danger  of  the  sport  in  ordinary,  the 
chief  reason  of  his  being  unpersuadable  in  the  present 
instance  was  a  report  that  the  animals  to  be  encountered 
were  of  more  than  ordinary  ferocity ;  so  that  the  cavalleros 
who  were  expected  to  be  foremost  in  the  lists  in  general, 
now  felt  themselves  to  be  particularly  called  on  to  make 


THE    BULL-FIGHT.  349 

their  appearance,  at  the  hazard  of  an  alternative  too  dread- 
ful for  the  greatest  valor  to  risk. 

The  final  argument  which  he  used  with  his  mistress 
was,  the  very  excess  of  that  love,  and  the  very  position  in 
which  it  stood  at  that  bridal  moment,  to  which  he  in  vain 
appealed.  He  showed  how  it  had  ever  and  irremediably 
been  the  custom  to  estimate  the  fighter's  love  by  the  meas- 
ure of  his  courage  ;  the  more  "  apparent "  the  risk  (for  he 
pretended  to  laugh  at  any  real  danger),  the  greater  the 
evidence  of  passion  and  the  honor  done  to  the  lady ;  and 
so,  after  many  more  words  and  tears,  the  honor  was  to  be 
done  accordingly,  grievously  against  her  will,  and  custom 
triumphed.  Custom!  That  "little  thing,"  as  the  people 
called  it  to  the  philosopher.  "That  great  and  terrible 
thing,"  as  the  philosopher  justly  thought  it.  To  show  how 
secure  he  was,  and  how  securer  still  it  would  render  him, 
he  made  her  promise  to  be  there  ;  and  she  required  little 
asking :  for  a  thought  came  into  her  head,  which  made  her 
pray  with  secret  and  sudden  earnestness  to  the  Virgin ; 
and  the  same  thought  enabled  her  to  give  him  final  looks, 
not  only  of  resigned  lovingness,  but  of  a  sort  of  cheered 
composure  ;  for,  now  that  she  saw  there  was  no  remedy, 
she  would  not  make  the  worst  of  his  resolve,  and  so  they 
parted. 

How  differently  from  when  they  met !  and  how  dread- 
fully to  be  again  brought  together  ! 

The  day  has  arrived  ;  the  great  square  has  been  duly  set 
out ;  the  sand,  to  receive  the  blood,  is  spread  over  it ;  the 
barricadoes  and  balconies  (the  boxes)  are  all  right ;  the  king 
and  his  nobles  are  there  ;  Don  Alphonso  and  his  Lucinda 
are  there  also  ;  he,  in  his  place  on  the  square,  on  horse- 
back, with  his  attendants  behind  him,  and  the  door  out  of 


350  THE    BULL-FIGHT. 

which  the  bull  is  to  come,  in  front ;  she,  where  he  will  be- 
hold her  before  long,  though  not  in  the  box  to  which  he  has 
been  raising  his  eyes.  All  the  gentlemen  who  are  to  fight 
the  bulls,  each  in  his  turn,  and  who,  like  Alphonso,  are 
dressed  in  black,  with  plumes  of  white  feathers  on  their 
heads,  and  scarfs  of  different  colors  round  the  body,  have 
ridden  round  the  lists  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  to  salute 
the  ladies  of  their  acquaintance  ;  and  all  is  still  and  wait- 
ing. The  whole  scene  is  gorgeous  with  tapestries,  and 
gold,  and  jewels.  It  is  a  theatre  in  which  pomp  and  pleas- 
ure are  sitting  in  a  thousand  human  shapes  to  behold  a 
cruel  spectacle. 

The  trumpets  sound  ;  crashes  of  other  music  succeed  ; 
the  door  of  the  stable  opens  ;  and  the  noble  creature,  the 
bull,  makes  his  appearance,  standing  still  awhile,  and 
looking  as  it  were  with  a  confused  composure  before 
him.  Sometimes  when  the  animal  first  comes  forth,  it 
rushes  after  the  horseman  who  has  opened  the  door,  and 
who  has  rushed  away  from  the  mood  in  which  it  has  shown 
itself.  But  the  bull  on  this  occasion  was  one  that,  from 
the  very  perfection  of  his  strength,  awaited  provoking.  He 
soon  has  it.  Light,  agile  footmen,  who  are  there  on  pur- 
pose, vex  him  with  darts  and  arrows,  garnished  with  paper 
set  on  fire.  He  begins  by  pursuing  them  hither  and 
thither,  they  escaping  by  all  the  arts  of  cloaks  and  hats 
thrown  on  the  ground,  and  deceiving  figures  of  pasteboard. 
Soon  he  is  irritated  extremely ;  he  stoops  his  sullen  head 
to  toss ;  he  raises  it,  with  his  eyes  on  fire,  to  kick  and 
trample ;  he  bellows ;  he  rages ;  he  grows  mad.  His 
breath  gathers  like  a  thick  mist  about  his  head.  He  gal- 
lops, amidst  cries  of  men  and  women,  franticly  around 
the  square,  like  a  racer,  following  and  followed  by  his  tor- 
mentors ;  he  tears  the  horses  with  his  horns ;  he  disem- 


THE    BULL-FIGHT.  35 1 

bowels  them  ;  he  tosses  the  howling  dogs  that  are  let  loose 
on  him ;  he  leaps  and  shivers  in  the  air  like  a  very  stag  or 
goat.  His  huge  body  is  nothing  to  him  in  the  rage  and 
might  of  his  agony. 

For  Alphonso,  who  had  purposely  got  in  his  way  to 
shorten  his  Lucinda's  misery  (knowing  her  surely  to  be 
there,  though  he  has  never  seen  her),  has  gashed  the  bull 
across  the  eyes  with  his  sword,  and  pierced  him  twice 
with  the  javelins  furnished  him  by  his  attendants.  Half 
blinded  with  the  blood,  and  yet  rushing  at  him,  it  should 
seem,  with  sure  and  final  aim  of  his  dreadful  head,  the 
creature  is  just  upon  him,  when  a  blow  from  a  negro  who 
is  helping  one  of  the  pages,  turns  him  distractedly  in  that 
new  direction,  and  he  strikes  down,  not  the  negro,  but  the 
youthful,  and  in  truth  wholly  frightened  and  helpless,  page. 
The  page,  in  falling,  loses  his  cap,  from  which  there  flows 
a  profusion  of  woman's  hair,  and  Alphonso  knows  it  on  the 
instant.  He  leaps  off  his  horse,  and  would  have  shrieked, 
would  have  roared  out  with  horror  ;  but  something  which 
seemed  to  wrench  and  twist  round  his  very  being  within 
him,  prevented  it,  and  in  a  sort  of  stifled  and  almost 
meek  voice,  he  could  only  sobbingly  articulate  the  word, 
"  Lucinda  !  "  But  in  an  instant  he  rose  out  of  that  self- 
pity  into  frenzy ;  he  hacked  wildly  at  the  bull,  which  was 
now  spinning  as  wildly  round ;  and  though  the  assembly 
rose,  crying  out,  and  the  king  bade  the  brute  be  dispatched, 
which  was  done  by  a  thrust  in  the  spine  by  those  who 
knew  the  trick,  (ah  !  why  did  they  not  do  it  before  ?)  the 
poor  youth  has  fallen,  not  far  from  his  Lucinda,  gored 
alike  with  herself  to  death,  though  neither  of  them  yet 
expiring. 

As  recovery  was  pronounced  hopeless,  and  the  deaths 
of  the  lovers  close  at  hand,  they  were  both  carried  into 


35 2  THE    BULL-FIGHT. 

the  nearest  house,  and  laid,  as  the  nature  of  the  place 
required,  on  the  same  bed.  And,  indeed,  as  it  turned  out, 
nothing  could  be  more  fitting.  Great  and  sorrowful  was 
the  throng  in  the  room  :  some  of  the  greatest  nobles  were 
there,  and  a  sorrowing  message  was  brought  from  the 
king.  Had  the  lovers  been  princes,  their  poor  insensible 
faces  could  not  have  been  watched  with  greater  pity  and 
respect. 

At  length  they  opened  their  eyes,  one  after  the  other, 
to  wonder  —  to  suffer  —  to  discover  each  otherwhere  they 
lay  —  and  to  weep  from  abundance  of  wretchedness,  and 
from  the  difficulty  of  speaking.  They  attemped  to  make  a 
movement  towards  each  other,  but  could  not  even  raise 
an  arm.  Lucinda  tried  to  speak,  but  could  only  sigh  and 
attempt  to  smile.  Don  Alphonso  said  at  last,  half  sobbing, 
looking  with  his  languid  eyes  on  her  kind  and  patient 
face  —  "  She  does  not  reproach  me,  even  now." 

They  both  wept  afresh  at  this,  but  his  mistress  looked 
at  him  with  such  unutterable  love  and  fondness,  making, 
at  the  same  time,  some  little  ineffectual  movements  of  her 
hand,  that  the  good  old  Duke  de  Linares  said,  "  She  wishes 
to  put  her  arm  over  him  ;  and  he  too  —  see  —  his  arm  over 
her."  Tenderly,  and  with  the  softest  caution,  were  their 
arms  put  accordingly  ;  and  then,  in  spite  of  their  anguish, 
the  good  Duke  said,  "  Marry  them  yet."  And  the  priest 
opened  his  book,  and  well  as  he  could  speak  for  sympathy, 
or  they  seem  to  answer  to  his  words,  he  married  them  ; 
and  thus  —  in  a  few  moments,  from  excess  of  mingled 
agony  and  joy,  with  their  arms  on  one  another,  and  smil- 
ing as  they  shut  their  eyes  —  their  spirits  passed  away 
from  them,  and  they  died. 


LOVE   AND   WILL.  353 


LOVE   AND   WILL. 

INDING,  upon  inquiry,  that  Steele's  little 
periodical  paper,  called  "The  Lover,"  is 
still  less  known  than  we  supposed,  we  shall 
here  give  some  account  of  it,  and  then  pro- 
ceed to  some  other  reflections  to  which  it  has 
given  rise.  We  have  already  intimated,*  that  it  was  one 
of  the  numerous  publications  of  the  kind  to  which  Steele's 
necessities  and  lively  impulses  united  gave  birth,  and  which, 
for  similar  reasons,  were  speedily  brought  to  a  close.  Ton- 
son  collected  the  forty  papers  of  which  it  consisted  into  a 
duodecimo  volume,  in  which  he  included  a  political  paper 
entitled  "  The  Reader,"  which  reached  only  its  ninth 
number ;  and  this  is  the  book  now  before  us.  The  dedi- 
cation to  Garth  is  surmounted  by  one  of  those  rude  little 
wood-cuts  or  copperplates,  half  flower  and  half  figure, 
formerly,  we  believe,  called  head-pieces  (perhaps  still  so, 
otherwise  we  know  not  the  technical  word).  It  presents 
us  with  Sir  Samuel's  coats  of  arms  (two  lions  passant 
gardant  between  three-cross  crosslets)  supported,  or  rather 
attended,  by  two  Cupids  :  one  with  a  lyre  for  the  doctor's 
poetry,  and  the  other  holding  his  professional  emblem,  the 
staff  of  /Esculapius.  The  first  number  is,  in  like  manner, 
graced  with  a  head  of  Queen  Anne,  and  so  is  that  of 
"  The  Reader."  We  reckon  upon  our  own  reader's  not 
being  averse  to  the  mention  of  these  amenities,  partly 
from   his  love   of  anything   connected  with   books,   and 

*  In  an  article  on  "  Garth,  Physicians,  and  Love-Letters,"  in  "  Men, 
Women,  and  Books."  —  Ed. 

23 


354  LOVE   AND   WILL. 

partly  because  they  help  to  show  the  manners  and  feel- 
ings of  the  times  ;  and  we  confess  we  have  another  regard 
for  them  ourselves,  owing  to  school  recollections,  and  to 
the  minutes  of  bliss  we  snatched,  during  the  hardness  of 
our  tasks,  from  those  figures  of  Venuses  and  Amphitrites, 
which  sail  along  the  tops  of  Ovid  and  other  classics  in 
the  edition  of  Mattaire. 

Steele,  whether  as  an  attraction,  or  a  blind  (if  the  latter, 
it  was  the  most  transparent  of  all  blinds),  puts  forth  his 
"Lover,"  as  "written  in  imitation  of  the  'Tatler.'"  He 
supposes  himself  to  be  one  "  Marmaduke  Myrtle,"  a  ten- 
der-hearted and  speculative  gentleman  "  about  town," 
crossed  in  love,  assisted  in  his  lucubrations  by  four  others, 
who  have  met  with  various  good  or  ill  success  in  their 
honorable  passion  for  some  lady,  particularly  one  Mr. 
Severn,  a  young  gentleman  who  is  his  "hero,"  and  whom 
he  describes  in  the  most  exquisite  manner  of  the  "  Tat- 
ler,"  as  one  that  treats  every  woman  of  a  "  certain  age  " 
so  respectfully,  "  that  in  his  company  she  can  never  give 
herself  the  compunction  of  having  lost  anything  which 
made  her  agreeable."  Of  this  hero,  however,  we  hear 
nothing  further  but  in  one  paper,  and  the  author  makes 
but  the  like  mention  of  one  of  his  other  assistants.  In 
short,  beautiful  as  some  of  the  papers  are,  and  touched 
with  equal  knowledge  of  the  world  and  delicacy  of  feeling, 
it  did  not  "take,"  and  Steele  soon  got  tired.  It  went 
upon  too  exclusive  a  subject,  and  professed  too  open  an 
intention  of  discountenancing  the  town  ideas  of  love,  to 
be  acceptable  to  those  who  could  have  brought  a  man  of 
wit  his  greatest  number  of  readers  ;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  Steele  had  such  a  healthy  and  unhypocritical  sense 
of  the  corporeal  as  well  as  spiritual  part  of  the  passion, 
that  he  offended  such  of  his  readers  as  had  chosen  to  take 


LOVE    AND    WILL.  355 

him  for  a  kind  of  sermonizer  on  love.  In  one  of  his  papers 
is  an  account  of  an  accident  which  happened  to  a  young 
lady  on  horseback  in  the  cross-country  road,  between 
Hampstead  and  Highgate,  and  which  with  an  exquisite 
mixture  of  playfulness  and  delicacy,  he  represented  as 
furnishing  a  sort  of  compulsory,  but  charming,  reason 
why  the  young  gentleman  who  happened  to  be  with  her 
was  to  be  accepted  as  her  husband.  With  this  anecdote 
some  "  heavy  rogue,"  as  he  truly  calls  him  in  a  contem- 
porary publication,  chose  to  pick  one  of  those  quarrels 
which,  by  the  degrading  turn  of  their  thoughts  and  the 
stupidity  of  their  ostentation,  create  the  indecency  of  which 
they  complain ;  and  this,  no  doubt,  did  him  a  disservice 
with  the  dull  and  commonplace,  and  added  to  the  per- 
plexity arising  from  his  own  mixed  pretensions.  To  com- 
plete his  causes  of  failure,  he  was  a  zealous  politician, 
and,  before  he  had  written  a  dozen  papers,  could  not  help 
falling  foul  of  the  Tories  ;  which  in  a  gentleman  so  ab- 
sorbed in  the  belle  passion  as  Mr.  Myrtle,  was  certainly 
not  so  well,  and  must  have  frightened  such  of  his  fair 
readers  as  patched  their  cheeks  on  the  Tory  side,  and 
could  only  fall  in  love  on  high-church  principles.* 

*  About  the  Middle  of  Last  Winter  I  went  to  see  an  Opera  at  the  Theatre 
in  the  Haymarket,  where  I  could  but  take  notice  of  two  Parties  of  very  fine 
Women,  that  had  placed  themselves  in  the  Opposite  Side- Boxes,  and  seemed 
drawn  up  in  a  kind  of  Battle-Array  one  against  another.  After  a  short  Survey 
of  them,  I  found  they  were  Patched  differently  ;  the  Faces  on  one  Hand  being 
spotted  on  the  Right  side  of  the  Forehead,  and  those  upon  the  other  on  the 
Left.  I  quickly  perceived  that  they  cast  hostile  Glances  upon  one  another  ; 
and  that  their  Patches  were  placed  in  those  different  Situations,  as  Party-Sig- 
nals to  distinguish  Friends  from  Foes.  In  the  Middle-Boxes,  between  those  two 
opposite  Bodies,  were  several  Ladies  who  patched  indifferently  on  both  Sides 
of  their  Faces,  and  seemed  to  sit  there  with  no  other  Intention  but  to  see  the 
Opera.  Upon  inquiry  I  found  that  the  Body  of  the  Amazons  on  my  Right 
Hand,  were  Whigs,  and  those  on  my  Left,  Tories ;  And  that  those  who  had 


356  LOVE   AND   WILL. 

In  our  last  number,  we  extracted  from  this  book  two 
charmingly  pathetic  letters,  which  brought  the  reader  ac- 
quainted with  a  pair  of  real  lovers.*  It  shall  now  furnish 
us  with  a  tragedy  of  a  different  sort,  though  pretending  to 
be  equally  founded  on  love,  and  (as  the  paragraph  adver- 
tisements say)  of  "  startling  interest."  Steele  says  he  had 
it  from  a  gentleman  who  was  "  an  eye-witness  of  several 
parts  of  it."  The  relief  which  the  feelings  experienced 
amidst  the  terrors  of  the  former  story  arose  from  the 
sweetness  of  its  affections.  In  the  present,  the  love  is 
of  as  bitter  a  sort  as  the  catastrophe,  but  consoles  us  by 
driving  matters  to  a  pitch  of  the  ludicrous  in  the  very 
excess  of  its  will.  The  heroine  is  a  great  spoiled  child, 
who  insists  upon  tearing  her  lover's  breast  open,  and 
taking  him  with  her  into  the  other  world,  just  as  a  smaller 
one  might  its  drum. 

"About  ten  years  ago,"  says  Steele,  "there  lived  at 
Vienna  a  German  count,  who  had  long  entertained  a 
secret  amour  with  a  young  lady  of  a  considerable  family. 
After  a  correspondence  of  gallantries,  which  had  lasted 
two  or  three  years,  the  father  of  the  young  count,  whose 
family  was  reduced  to  a  low  condition,  found  out  a  very 
advantageous  match  for  him ;  and  made  his  son  sensible, 
that  he  ought  in  common  prudence  to  close  with  it.  The 
count,  upon  the  first  opportunity,  acquainted  his  mistress 
very  fairly  with  what  had  passed,  and  laid  the  whole  mat- 
placed  themselves  in  the  Middle-Boxes  were  a  Neutral  Party,  whose  Faces  had 
not  yet  declared  themselves.  These  last,  however,  as  I  afterwards  found,  di- 
minished daily,  and  took  their  Party  with  one  Side  or  the  other ;  inasmuch  as 
that  I  observed,  in  several  of  them,  the  Patches  which  were  before  dispersed 
equally,  are  now  all  gone  over  to  the  Whig  or  Tory  Side  of  the  Face.  —  Ad- 
dison, The  Spectator,  No.  81.  —  Ed. 

*  See  the  article  on  "Garth,  Physicians,  and  Love-Letters, "  in  "Men, 
Women,  and  Books."  —  Ed 


LOVE    AND   WILL.  357 

ter  before  her  with  such  freedom  and  openness  of  heart, 
that  she  seemingly  consented  to  it.  She  only  desired  of 
him  that  they  might  have  one  meeting  more,  before  they 
parted  for  ever.  The  place  appointed  for  this  their  meet- 
ing was  a  grove,  which  stands  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
town.  They  conversed  together  in  this  place  some  time, 
when  on  a  sudden  the  lady  pulled  out  a  pocket-pistol,  and 
shot  her  lover  into  the  heart,  so  that  he  immediately  fell 
dead  at  her  feet.  She  then  returned  to  her  father's  house, 
telling  every  one  she  met  what  she  had  done.  Her  friends, 
upon  hearing  her  story,  would  have  found  out  means  for 
her  to  make  her  escape  ;  but  she  told  them  she  had  killed 
her  dear  count,  because  she  could  not  live  without  him ; 
and  that,  for  the  same  reason,  she  was  resolved  to  follow 
him  by  whatever  way  justice  should  determine.  She  was 
soon  seized,  but  she  avowed  her  guilt ;  rejected  all  excuses 
that  were  made  in  her  favor,  and  only  begged  that  her  exe- 
cution might  be  speedy.  She  was  sentenced  to  have  her 
head  cut  off,  and  was  apprehensive  of  nothing  but  that 
the  interest  of  her  friends  would  obtain  a  pardon  for  her. 
When  the  confessor  approached  her,  she  asked  him  where 
he  thought  was  the  soul  of  her  dead  count.  He  replied 
that  his  case  was  very  dangerous,  considering  the  circum- 
stances in  which  he  died.  Upon  this  so  desperate  was 
her  frenzy,  that  she  bid  him  leave  her,  for  that  she  was 
resolved  to  go  to  the  same  place  where  the  count  was. 
The  priest  was  forced  to  give  her  better  hopes  for  the 
deceased,  from  considerations  that  he  was  upon  the  point 
of  breaking  off  so  criminal  a  commerce,  and  leading  a 
new  life,  before  he  could  bring  her  mind  into  a  temper  fit 
for  one  who  was  so  near  her  end.  Upon  the  day  of  her 
execution  she  dressed  herself  in  all  her  ornaments,  and 
walked  toward  the  scaffold  more  like  a  bride  than  a  con- 


35^  LOVE   AND    WILL. 

demned  criminal.  My  friend  tells  me  that  he  saw  her 
placed  in  the  chair,  according  to  the  custom  of  that  place, 
where,  after  having  stretched  out  her  neck  with  an  air  of 
joy,  she  called  upon  the  name  of  the  count,  which  was  the 
appointed  signal  for  the  executioner,  who,  with  a  single 
blow  of  his  sword,  severed  her  head  from  her  body." 

What  a  woman !  and  what  a  love,  to  stick  to  the  poor 
devil  of  a  count  to  all  eternity !  very  lucky  for  him  was 
it,  that  she  could  not  settle  matters  in  the  next  world  with 
the  same  tragical  nonchalance  as  in  this  !  though,  in  the 
excess  of  her  vanity,  she  seems  to  have  taken  for  granted 
that  she  could ;  and  that  the  angels  were  all  to  tremble 
before  her,  as  the  poor  foolish  people  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  do  in  her  father's  house.  For,  observe,  she 
reckons  confidently  upon  going  to  heaven,  instead  "  of  the 
other  way."  The  very  mention  of  the  latter  puts  her  in  a 
frenzy,  to  which  the  priest  himself  is  obliged  to  accommo- 
date his  last  offices,  before  he  can  bring  her  mind  to  a 
temper  fit  to  die  in.  It  is  impossible  her  "dear  count" 
can  go  to  the  devil,  precisely  because  she  has  made  up 
her  mind  to  go  elsewhere ;  such  an  erroneous  proceed- 
ing is  not  to  be  thought  of :  she  has  taken  him  from  his 
new  mistress  (upon  the  contrast  of  whose  mild  manners 
he  had  just  been  hugging  himself)  —  has  given  him  his 
directions  with  a  pocket-pistol  which  way  to  go,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  There,  get  you  along  first,"  —  and  then  sets 
out  for  heaven  after  him  by  the  execution-stage,  shaking 
her  loving  fist  towards  the  stars,  and  resolved  to  have  him 
all  to  herself,  till  time  and  termagancy  shall  be  no  more  ! 

This  is,  perhaps,  the  most  extraordinary  sample  on 
record  of  the  modesty  and  tenderness  of  self-will  —  of 
the  having  the  "reciprocity"  (as  the  Irishman  said)  "all 
on  one  side."     I  love  you,  says  the  lady,  therefore  you 


LOVE    AND    WILL.  359 

must  love  me ;  or  it  is  no  matter  whether  you  do  or  not, 
compared  with  my  treating  you  as  if  you  did,  and  tor- 
menting you  if  you  don't.  You  are  very  amiable,  there- 
fore be  so  to  me  above  anybody  else,  whether  I  am  amiable 
or  not.  You  have  a  will  and  wishes  of  your  own,  perhaps, 
as  well  as  other  people ;  but  yours  and  all  other  people's 
must  of  course  give  way  to  mine  ;  for  that  is  but  reason- 
able :  all  are  fools  and  scoundrels  who  "  offer  to  believe 
otherwise,"  and  I  could  knock  them  all  on  the  head,  if  I 
cared  for  them  enough  to  do  so ;  but  that  is  a  favor  which 
I  reserve  for  yourself.  So  there  {shoots  him  through  the 
body)  —  and  now,  with  this  new  wound  in  your  heart,  come 
you  along  with  me,  and  be  delighted  with  me  and  my  com- 
pany, world  without  end ! 

To  go  to  the  other  extreme  of  lovely  generosity,  how 
different  is  the  wish  expressed  by  Shakespeare,  in  the  con- 
templation of  his  own  death  :  of  Shakespeare  himself,  ob- 
serve—  not  of  the  dramatist  speaking  in  the  person  of 
another,  but  of  the  great  poet  and  human  being  speaking 
in  his  own  person  —  of  the  creator  of  the  characters  of 
Imogen  and  Desdemona  —  and  of  the  man  who  could 
create  those  characters,  because  he  felt  as  he  spoke  in 
uttering  these  sentiments.  How  else,  indeed,  could  he 
so  have  spoken  them  ?  Observe  the  simple  words  —  the 
pure  and  daring  trust  in  the  belief  of  his  reader  —  the  great 
and  good  mind,  that  in  spite  of  its  having  run  the  whole 
round  of  experience,  or  rather  because  it  had  done  so, 
could  retain  feelings  so  enthusiastic  and  generous  above 
all  worldly  price. 

"  No  longer  mourn  for  me  when  I  am  dead, 
Than  you  shall  hear  the  surly  sullen  bell 
Give  warning  to  the  world  that  I  am  fled 
From  this  vile  world  with  vilest  worms  to  dwell : 
Nay,  if  you  read  this  line,  remember  not 


360  »        LOVE   AND    WILL. 

The  hand  that  writ  it ;  for  I  love  you  so, 

That  I  in  your  sweet  thoughts  would  be  forgot, 

If  thinking  on  me  then  should  make  you  woe. 

Oh,  if,  ( I  say),  you  look  upon  this  verse, 

When  I,  perhaps,  compounded  am  with  clay, 

Do  not  so  much  as  my  poor  name  rehearse, 

But  let  your  love  even  with  my  life  decay  ; 

Lest  the  wise  world  should  look  into  your  moan, 

And  mock  you  with  me  after  I  am  gone." 

What  beautiful  writing !  What  common,  every-day  words 
made  divine  by  love  !  But  it  may  be  said  that  the  poet 
may  have  written  all  this,  without  exactly  feeling  what 
he  said ;  that  other  poets  have  done  as  much  who  were 
notoriously  no  very  admirable  lovers  ;  that  it  is  imagina- 
tion—  an  art  —  fiction. 

Do  not  believe  it.  Put  no  faith  in  the  envy,  or  the 
•want  of  faith,  that  thus  attempts  to  level  performance 
with  pretension.  You  might  as  well  proclaim  truth  to  be 
a  lie.  No  poets  have  so  written  who  have  not  thoroughly 
felt  what  they  professed  to  feel.  If  they  had,  if  incom- 
pleteness could  thus  be  completeness,  we  should  have  had 
a  thousand  Shakespeares  instead  of  one  —  a  thousand 
Chaucers,  a  thousand  Homers,  a  thousand  Burnses  — 
for  we  do  not  mean  to  say  that  in  every  instance  the  very 
greatest  genius  must  accompany  the  truest  feeling.  It  is 
sufficient  that  there  is  entire  truth  in  the  feeling  to  be  ex- 
pressed, and  genius  enough  to  express  that  truth. 

"  Here's  a  health  to  ane  I  lo'e  dear  ! 
Here's  a  health  to  ane  I  lo'e  dear  I 
Thou  art  sweet  as  the  smile  when  fond  lovers  meet, 
A  nd  soft  as  their  parting  teat —  Jessy  ! 

"  Although  thou  maun  never  be  mine, 
Although  even  hope  is  denied, 
'  Tis  sweeter  for  thee  despairing, 
Than  aught  in  the  world  beside" 

And  so  he  goes  on  through  the  whole  of  that  exquisite 


LOVE    AND    WILL.  36 1 

song,  the  last  but  one  that  he  wrote  (so  unwitherable  is 
the  heart  of  a  true  poet).     Hear  the  verse  of  another :  — 

"  Yestreen  when  to  the  trembling  string, 
The  dance  gaed  through  the  lighted  ha', 
To  thee  ray  fancy  took  its  wing, 
I  sat,  but  neither  heard  nor  saw. 
Though  this  was  fair  and  that  was  braw, 
And  you  the  boast  of  a'  the  town, 
/  sigh'd,  and  said  among  them  a*  : 
'  Ye  are  na  Mary  Morrison.'' " 

And  again  in  a  lighter  strain,  — 

"  The  deil  himself  he  could  na  scaith 
Whatever  wad  belang  thee ; 
He'd  look  into  thy  bonnie  face, 
A  nd  say,  '  /  catina  ivrang  thee?  " 

Burns  and  Ariosto  had  here  hit  upon  the  same  thought, 
because  they  had  received  the  same  truthful  impression  of 
the  power  of  a  beautiful  face  to  turn  away  from  injury. 

Stese  la  mano  in  quella  chioma  d'oro, 
E  strasimollo  a  se  con  violensa ; 
Ma  come  gli  occhi  a  quel  bel  velto  mise, 
Gli  ne  venne  pietade,  e  non  l'uccise. 

Orlando  Furioso,  Canto  19. 

"The  warrior  thrust  his  hand  into  those  locks  of  gold, 
and  fiercely  dragged  back  the  youth  ;  but  when  he  set 
eyes  on  that  sweet  face,  pity  came  into  his  heart,  and  he 
did  not  kill  him."  Which  Mr.  Hoole  (the  most  presump- 
tuous of  translators,  but  the  most  pardonable  in  his  pre- 
sumption, because  the  dullest),  thus  defaces,  as  if  no  such 
feeling  had  existed.  (It  should  be  mentioned  that  the 
youth  had  been  begging  a  respite  from  death,  in  order  to 
bury  his  prince's  body ;  otherwise  the  reader  would  see 
no  reason  at  all  for  his  being  spared  !) 

"  Zerbino  soon,  his  wrath  decreasing,  felt 
His  manly  soul  with  love  and  pity  melt  I' ' 


362  LOVE    AND    WILL. 

Not  a  word  of  the  face  !  not  a  word  of  the  dragging  back, 
nor  the  locks  of  gold,  nor  the  whole  beautiful  picture  ! 
(When  will  the  booksellers  cease  to  give  us  editions  of 
this  absurd  versifier  ?)  We  have  not  at  hand  the  old 
translation  of  Sir  John  Harrington  (better,  at  all  events, 
than  Hoole's),  nor  the  new  one  by  Mr.  Stewart  Rose,  who 
is  a  man  full  of  sympathy  with  his  species,  and  therefore 
has  doubtless  loved  this  passage  as  it  deserves.* 

What  has  made  Marot,  almost  the  only  French  poet  till 
the  days  of  Beranger,  that  an  Englishman  or  Italian  can 
read  with  thorough  faith  in  his  faith,  but  such  passages  as 
the  following,  simple  and  straightforward  as  those  of 
Shakespeare : — 

"  Oil  sont  ces  yeux,  lesqtiels  me  regardozent 
Souvent  en  ris,  souvent  avecques  larmes  ? 
Ou  sont  les  mots,  qui  tant  ni  ont  fait  d'alarmes ; 
Ou  est  la  bouche  aussi  qui  ni  appaisoit, 
Quand  tant  defois  et  si  bten  me  baisoit  ?  " 

"  Where  are  those  eyes  which  used  to  look  at  me,  often  in  smiles,  often  with 
tears?  Where  are  the  words  which  made  my  heart  beat  so?  Where  the 
mouth  which  gave  me  peace,  when  it  kissed  me  so  often  and  so  well  ? " 

Compared  with  such  writing  as  this,  and  some  passages 
in  their  very  greatest  dramatic  poets  and  Madame  des 
Houlieres,  the  whole  French  Parnassus  up  to  the  present 


*  Here  is  Mr.  Rose's  version  of  the  passage :  — 

"  In  furious  heat,  he  springs  upon  Medore, 

Exclaiming,  '  Thou  of  this  shalt  bear  the  pain.' 
One  hand  he  in  his  locks  of  golden  ore 

Enwreathes,  and  drags  him  to  himself  amain  ; 
But,  as  his  eyes  that  beauteous  face  survey, 
Takes  pity  on  the  boy,  and  does  not  slay." 
Hunt,  however,  in  the  preface  to  the  "  Stories  from  the  Italian  Poets," 
says  that  although  Rose  was  a  man  of  wit  and  a  scholar,  "  he  has  undoubtedly 
turned  the  ease  and  animation  of  Ariosto  into  inversion  and  insipidity."  —  Ed. 


LOVE    AND    WILL.  363 

day,  in  their  most  serious  moments,  seem  never  to  have 
had  a  thorough  belief  in  what  they  were  saying,  apart  from 
that  curse  of  all  half-performance,  the  wish  to  produce  an 
effect !  They  could  not  love  a  woman,  without  beseeching 
some  by-standers  to  admire  them  !  nor  go  into  solitude 
itself,  unaccompanied  by  a  pocket-mirror  to  adjust  their 
wigs  in ! 

It  is  thus,  whether  in  word  or  deed,  that  the  something 
true  is  spoiled  by  the  something  impertinent  —  something 
that  does  not  belong  to  it.  The  writer,  who  is  only  half 
in  earnest,  wishes  to  produce  a  whole  true  effect,  and  of 
course  cannot  do  it,  any  more  than  half  a  motive  is  suffi- 
cient for  what  is  wholly  to  be  moved.  The  love  that  is 
not  wholly  love  pieces  itself  out  with  vanity,  with  will,  with 
fury,  perhaps  is  more  than  half  made  up  of  it,  and  yet  ex- 
pects wholly  to  be  loved.  Nay,  the  more  expects  it  in  pro- 
portion as  it  is  violent  instead  of  strong,  and  demands 
instead  of  deserves.  It  is  for  this  reason  we  ought  always 
to  be  cautious  how  we  bestow  our  sympathy  on  the  pro- 
fession of  one  passion,  while  the  .demand  is  evidently 
made  us  by  another.  Even  in  those  unhappy  cases  of 
suicide,  for  instance,  which  so  frequently  appear  in  the 
newspapers,  how  manifest  is  it  that,  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten,  the  claim  is  of  very  equivocal  worth  indeed  !  The 
hasty  pity  of  society  (we  are  the  last  to  quarrel  with  it,  we 
would  only  have  it  not  misbestowed)  is  too  apt  to  take 
for  granted,  that  so  violent  an  end  proves  whatsoever  is 
charged  against  the  party  living  ;  whereas,  all  which  it 
unanswerably  proves,  is  the  violence  (one  way  or  other) 
of  the  suicide's  feelings  ;  and  it  would  be  generally  found, 
we  suspect,  on  due  inquiry,  that  this  was  the  very  feature 
in  the  character  which  produced  the  alienation  on  the  part 
of  the  supposed  offender.     Often  do  these  poor  wretches, 


364  LOVE   AND   WILL. 

whether  male  or  female,  threaten  the  catastrophe  long 
beforehand,  in  order  to  substitute  their  will  for  that  of  the 
person  threatened.  Often  do  they  declare,  in  loud  sullen 
tones,  their  determination  to  repeat  the  attempt  when  it  is 
prevented.  Sometimes  they  abuse  the  people  that  help 
them  out  of  it,  and  not  seldom  are  suicides  committed  out 
of  avowed  spite  and  revenge,  and  for  the  most  trivial  con- 
tradiction. We  have  read  of  a  girl  who  threw  herself  into 
the  water  because  her  sister  had  refused  her  some  more 
bread  and  butter !  All  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  so 
gentle,  and  generous,  and  enduring,  and  sweet-seeing  a 
passion  as  love  ;  which,  like  charity,  makes  the  best  of 
what  it  cannot  help,  tends  to  repose  on  all  loving  aids  and 
patiences,  and  desires  above  everything  the  happiness  of 
its  object  —  not  indeed  as  its  every-day  wish  (that  would 
be  too  much  to  expect  of  human  nature),  but  certainly  as 
its  preference  in  the  last  resort,  if  it  is  to  bequeath  miser- 
able or  consolatory  thoughts  to  its  object. 

"  For  I  love  you  so, 
That  I  in  your  thoughts  would  be  forgot, 
If  thinking  on  me  then  should  make  you  woe." 

Not  that  he  desired  to  be  forgot ;  oh  no,  —  he  desired 
infinitely  to  be  remembered,  but  not 

"  If  thinking  on  me  then  should  make  you  woe." 

In  that  case  he  desired  that  the  object  of  his  love,  whom 
he  would  fain  think  of  in  his  grave  to  his  last  dust,  should 
clean  forget  that  ever  there  was  such  a  being  as  one  Will- 
iam Shakespeare,  whose  love  had  brought  tears  into  her 
eyes,  and  with  whose  memory  she  might  associate,  per- 
haps, something  to  blame  in  her  own  treatment  of  him. 

The  newspapers  now  and  then  give  an  account,  some- 
times touching,  sometimes  provoking,  sometimes  as  ludi- 
crous as  a  scene  in  a  farce,  of  some   enamored  youth 


LOVE   AND    WILL.  365 

or  female  who  follows  the  beloved  object  about  with  an 
inveteracy  of  passion  that  leaves  it  no  repose,  —  some 
romantic  post-boy  or  milkmaid  that  besets  the  other's 
door  or  person,  and  at  length  brings  the  neighbors  about 
it,  to  the  destruction  of  business  on  both  sides,  and  some- 
times of  the  windows.  In  proportion  to  the  violence  or 
gentleness  of  the  suffering  in  these  cases,  you  may  know 
whether  there  is  any  real  love  or  otherwise.  If  there  is, 
the  object  is  pursued  in  so  much  the  better  taste  accord- 
ingly, and  the  pursuer  is  content  with  eternal  gazing  and 
a  reasonable  quantum  of  the  self-pity  of  tears :  in  short, 
the  love  may  be  altogether  true  in  that  case,  however  fan- 
tastically set ;  for  love  is  in  the  heart  and  imagination  of 
the  lover,  and  not  of  necessity  founded  on  real  merit  in  the 
object.  But  if  there  is  no  real  love,  but  simply  a  childish 
or  fierce  desire  of  having  "  one's  way,"  then  the  tears,  the 
noise,  the  visitations,  are  violent  accordingly,  and  the  hap- 
piness of  the  object  is  clearly  of  no  importance  whatever 
in  the  persecutor's  eyes,  compared  with  the  ridiculous 
assumption  that  it  must  and  shall  arise  from  nothing 
but  the  happiness  of  the  persecutor !  —  of  that  sole  and 
modest  individual,  who  is  taking  such  pains  to  show  an 
utter  unfitness  for  the  task  of  making  happy. 

Love,  in  every  mind,  is  colored  by  the  prevailing  passion 
or  quality  of  that  mind  ;  and  in  proportion  as  the  latter  is 
more  or  less,  so  is  the  love.  Thus  pride  will  fall  in  love 
(as  far  as  it  can)  on  account  of  something  to  be  proud 
of  in  the  object ;  mere  animal  passion  for  mere  animal 
beauty ;  sentiment  with  sentiment ;  and  a  violent  will  shall 
ardently  desire  to  become  master  or  mistress  of  a  char- 
acter totally  the  reverse  of  itself,  out  of  the  same  will  and 
pleasure  with  which  it  shall  please  it  to  desire  anything 
else  that  is  best  of  its  kind,  and  the  attainment  of  which 


366  LOVE   AND   WILL. 

is  a  confirmation  of  power.  "  How  dearly  I  love  my  own 
sweet  Will '/"  said  the  lady  in  the  epigram  ;  and  the  hus- 
band doubted  her  not.  "  I  would  rather  see  my  husband 
dead,  than  guilty  of  the  crime  of  infidelity,"  said  a  lady  of 
what  has  been  happily  termed  "outrageous  virtue."*  It 
was  the  selfish  Abelard  who  made  Eloisa  shut  herself  up 
in  a  convent,  when  she  could  no  longer  be  his  property. 
The  stupid  monster  Caligula  delighted  to  handle  the  little 
throat  of  his  favorite  wife  Caesonia,  and  to  think  of  the 
power  which  his  throne  gave  him  to  order  it  to  be  cut  off, 
wishing  that  all  Rome  had  but  one  such  throat,  that  he 
might  enjoy  the  greater  idea  in  the  less.  Henry  VIII., 
the  beast  of  prosperity,  did  cut  off  his  wife's,  —  nay,  two 
of  them ;  and  was  within  an  ace  of  doing  as  much  for  a 
third  ;  —  in  the  last  instance,  for  the  lady's  differing  with 
him  in  theology !  Yet  all  these  people,  when  it  suited 
them,  thought  themselves  in  love  ;  and  they  were  so  after 
their  respective  fashions  ;  that  is  to  say,  with  their  own 
"sweet  will."  It  is  impossible  for  such  natures  to  love 
anybody  but  themselves.  When  the  question  comes, 
which  is  to  get  the  better,  the  sense  of  their  own  self- 
importance,  or  the  happiness  of  the  supposed  beloved 
object,  down  goes  the  happiness,  like  a  thing  kicked  and 
despised.  Its  very  worth  becomes  an  aggravation  of  the 
offence.  The  despot's  charming  little  beauty  is  sent  to 
the  scaffold.  The  heart  that  would  have  endeared  thou- 
sands is  thrust  into  the  nunnery,  — 

"Chanting  faint  hymns  to  the  cold  fruitless  moon." 

God  forbid,  for  our  own  sakes  as  well  as  theirs,  that  any 
one's  fellow-creatures  should  be  denied  such  merits  or 

*  By  Steele :   "  Will  Honeycomb   calls   these  over-offended  Ladies,  the 
Outrageously  Virtuous."     The  Spectator,  No.  266.  —  Ed. 


LOVE    AND   WILL.  367 

excuses  as  they  may  have,  let  their  natures  otherwise  be 
as  provoking,  or  even  revolting,  as  they  may  —  much  less 
that  all  impulses  to  suicide  should  be  confounded,  and  the 
fascinated  terror  of  a  gentle  mind  like  Cowper's  be  dealt 
with  like  vulgar  rage  and  resentment,  or  the  "desperation 
of  a  Nero.  The  Neros  and  Henrys  themselves  were  the 
growth  of  circumstances.  Many  a  disturber  of  the  peace 
of  private  life  —  nay,  all  —  must  have  had  causes  for  being 
what  they  are,  apart  from  their  full-grown  wills  and  mis- 
takes ;  otherwise  there  would  be  no  such  things  in  the 
world  as  parents  and  ancestors,  and  educations  and  breed- 
ings, and  nurses,  and  imperfect  laws,  and  all  that  makes 
society  what  it- is  —  a  commonplace  so  obvious,  that  it 
would  be  ridiculous  to  repeat  it,  did  not  intelligent  people 
sometimes  startle  you  with  arguing  as  if  the  case  was 
otherwise,  only  showing,  all  the  while,  one  of  the  conse- 
quences of  their  own  breeding,  and  thus  confirming  every 
word  they  think  they  are  refuting.  Our  heroine  who  mur- 
dered her  "  dear  count,"  had  an  energy  which  might  have 
been  turned  to  better  purpose ;  she  evinced  a  taste  for  a 
companionship  better  than  her  own  (for  we  may  suppose 
the  count  to  have  had  no  mean  attractions  that  way) ;  and, 
at  all  events,  she  did  not  mind  going  through  pain  and 
death,  to  secure,  as  she  thought,  the  society  of  another 
fellow-creature.  There  was  probably  no  little  need  of  our 
charity  on  the  count's  own  part,  if  we  knew  all  the  story. 
Where  indeed  is  the  fellow-creature  who  shall  say  he 
has  none  ?  And  how  ill  would  it  become  those  whose  need 
is  the  least,  to  be  finally  bitter  against  such  as  have  had  the 
misfortune  to  want  more.  The  editor  of  the  new  "  Pic- 
torial Edition  "  of  Shakspere  (by  the  way,  we  adopt  with 
him  that  new  spelling  of  the  name,  happy  to  do  the  least 
and  most  trivial  thing  as  Shakspere  himself  appears   to 


368  LOVE   AND    WILL. 

have  done  it)  has  well  defended  the  great  poet  from  the 
strange  charge  brought  against  him  of  being  too  chari- 
table. The  sky  might  as  well  be  accused  of  bending  too 
equally  "  over  all."  If  the  very  representative  of  Nature 
must  not  be  as  charitable  as  he  is  inclined  to  be,  then 
would  it  be  no  inclination  of  Nature  herself;  and  what  an 
awful  consideration  for  us,  in  the  last  resort,  would  that 
be  !  But  the  great  mother  is  "justified  of  her  children  ; " 
and  no  depth  of  the  human  heart  was  ever  sounded  to  its 
extreme  point,  in  which  the  rod  did  not  pierce  through 
sweet  waters  as  well  as  through  stubborn  clay. 


Cambridge :  Press  of  John  Wilson  &  Son. 


The  American  Publishers  of  William  Morris's  Books,  desirous  of  preserving 
the  many  good  things  which  the  critics  have  said  about  "  The  Earthly  Paradise,"  as 
well  as  to  aid  in  spreading  the  fame  of  the  "  rising  poet,"  have  collected  these  criti- 
cisms, a  few  of  the  many  "  Tributes  "  of  the  English  and  American  press. 


TRIBUTES 


WILLIAM     MORRIS, 


ON    THE    PUBLICATION    OF 


THE  EARTHLY  PARADISE. 


'  It  is  a  very  good  office  one  man  does  another,  when  he  tells  him  the  manner  of 
his  being  pleased." — Sir  Richard  Steele. 


The  "Tributes,"  a  pamphlet  of  36  pages,  will  be  mailed  free  to 
any  address  by  the  publishers, 

Roberts  Brothers,  Boston. 


"  The  Earthly  Paradise,  by  Mr.  Morris,  one  of  the  few  great  poems  of  our  cen- 
tury."— John  G.  Whittier. 

"The  largest  of  the  late  crop  of  poets." — John  G.  Saxe. 

"  Much  the  most  notable  poem  recently  published."  —  Geo.  W.  Curtis. 

"  The  world  is  richer  by  a  new  poet,  a  genuine  born  maker  and  singer." —  Rich- 
ard Grant  White. 

"  It  brings  back  the  golden  age  of  poetry,  and  is  most  delicious  reading."  —  Har- 
riet Prescott  Spofford. 

"Poems  of  rare  and  fresh  excellence." — Charles  E.  Norton. 

"  Since  Chaucer,  the  most  truly  imaginative  (narrative)  poet  that  has  appeared."  — 
Paul  H.  Hayne. 

"  Every  page  increases  the  wonderful  charm  of  the  poem." — Harriet  McEwen 
Kimball. 

"  Mr.  Morris  has  made  a  bold  and  successful  step  towards  a  return  to  the  simplicity 
and  strength  of  nature,  against  which  our  poets  have  resolutely  closed  their  eyes  for 
many  a  day." — Geo.  H.  Boker. 

"  Like  a  reawakening  of  Spenser,  in  its  long,  sweet,  meandering  rhythms,  and 
like  a  resurrection  of  the  Greek  gods  themselves,  in  the  life-like  beauty  with  which 
the  familiar  stories  of  mythology  are  told."  —  Lucy  Larcom. 


Mr.  Morris's  Poems  are  published  in  America  by  arrangement 
with  him,  and  he  receives  a  stated  copyright  on  all  sold. 

THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF    JASON.     A 
Poem,  in  one  volume,  i6mo,  cloth.     Price,  $1.50. 


THE  EARTHLY  PARADISE.     A  Poem. 

^One*  VoZn"'  i  Comprising  March,  April,  May,  June,  July,  and  August. 

In  OneVohune.  |  ComPrisin£  September,  October,  and  November. 

Part  IV.         j  Comprising  December,  January,  and  February. 
In  One  Volume.   )  (In  Preparation.) 

There  are  ttoo  editions  of  the  Earthly  Paradise : 

The  crown  8vo  (English)  Edition,  green  vellum  cloth,  gilt  top.    Price  $3.00. 
The  i6mo  Edition,  vellum  cloth,  gilt  top.    Price  $2.25. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers  everywhere,  or  mailed,  post  paid,  on  receipt 
of  the  advertised  price,  by  the  publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS, 

BOSTON. 


By  the  same  Author, 

THE 

LIFE   AND   DEATH  OF  JASON, 

A  Poem  in  17  Books, 
In  one  volume,  i6mo,  cloth,  price  $  1.50. 


"  Morris's  '  Jason '  is  in  the  purest,  simplest,  most  idiomatic  English ; 
full  of  freshness,  full  of  life,  vivid  in  landscape,  vivid  in  human  action, 
worth  reading  at  the  cost  of  many  leisure  hours  even  to  a  busy  man."  — 
The  Times. 

"  Not  many  living  Englishmen  have  written  so  good  a  poem  on  such  a 
scale.  Mr.  Morris  is  a  most  skilful  narrator,  full  of  the  sweet  garrulity 
proper  to  the  olden  time  and  those  that  love  it."  —  The  Guardian. 

"Mr.  Morris  has  displayed  poetic  qualities  rare  in  themselves,  and 
especially  rare  in  these  days.  We  should  have  to  go  back  for  a  quarter 
of  a  century  to  find  any  labor  of  equal  pretension  that  exhibits  the  same 
amount  of  fortitude  in  the  writer  and  the  same  intimate  knowledge  of  all 
that  relates  to  his  theme."  —  The  Athetueutn. 

"  "The  Life  and  Death  of  Jason '  is  a  fine  poem,  which  never  flags  in 
interest  for  a  single  line,  and  is  full  of  music,  life,  and  clear  vision.  The 
freshness  of  the  early  world '  has  taken  complete  possession  of  Mr. 
Morris  as  he  wrote."  —  The  Spectator. 

"  In  all  the  noble  roll  of  our  poets  there  has  been  since  Chaucer  no 
second  teller  of  Tales,  no  second  rhapsode  comparable  to  the  first,  till  the 
advent  of  this  one.  Rarely  but  in  the  ballad  and  romance  periods  has 
such  poetry  been  written,  so  broad  and  sad  and  simple,  so  full  of  deep 
and  direct  fire,  certain  of  its  aim,  without  finish,  without  fault."  —  Fort- 
nightly Review. 

"  Open  this  poem  where  the  reader  may,  he  will  find  in  it  broad  and 
simple  pictures  of  the  olden  days.  It  is  true  art  alone  which  can  draw 
pictures  with  this  living  simplicity,  whether  in  bare  outline  or  in  full  blaze 
of  color;  and  this  art  Mr.  Morris  possesses  in  a  high  degree."  —  The 
Standard. 

"  Musical,  clear,  and  flowing,  strangely  imaginative  and  suggestive, 
presenting  pictures  of  almost  incomparable  beauty,  it  is  a  work  of  which 
au  epoch  may  be  proud."  —  Sunday  Times. 


MR.  WILLIAM  MORRIS'S  WORKS. 


THE     EARTHLY    PARADISE, 

A  Collection  of  Tales  in  Verse. 

Parts  I.  and  II.     Prologue,  March,  April,  May,  June,  July,  and  August, 

containing  the  Stories  of — 
The  Wanderers.  The  Writing  on  the  Image. 

Atalanta's  Race.  The  Love  of  Alcestis. 

The  Man  born  to  be  King.  The  Ladv  of  the  Land. 

The  Doom  of  King  Acrisius.   '      The  Son  of  Crcesus. 
The  Proud  King.  The  Watching  of  the  Falcon. 

Cupid  and  Psyche.  Pygmalion  and  the  Image. 

Ogier  the  Dane. 
In  one  volume,  Crown  8vo  Edition,  Cloth,  gilt  top,  price,  $  3.0a 
"  "        i6mo  "  "  "  "      £2.25. 

Part  III.     September,  October,   and  November,  containing  the 
Stories    of — 
The  Death  of  Paris.  The  Man   who  never  laughed 

The  Land  East  of  the  Sun  and       again. 

West  of  the  Moon.  The  Story  of  Rhodope. 

Accontius  and  Cydippe.  The  Lovers  of  Gudrun. 

In  one  volume,  Crown  8vo  Edition,  Cloth,  gilt  top,  price,  $  3.00. 
"  "         i6mo  "  "  "  "     $2.25. 


IN  PREPARATION. 
The  4th  and   concluding  part  of 

THE   EARTHLY    PARADISE, 

December,  January,  and  February. 
A  New  Edition  of 

THE   DEFENCE   OF   GUENEVERE, 

And  other  Early  Poems, 
with  the  addition  of  some  Pieces  not  hitherto  collected. 


Sixth  Edition.     i6mo,  cloth,  price,  $  1.50. 

THE   LIFE   AND    DEATH    OF   JASON. 


A  Poem,  in  Seventeen  Books. 


Mailed,  post-paid,  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Boston. 


;  tf  3(p 


